Brothers' Blood
by princ3ssf33t
Summary: He could see that something was wrong. Something had been wrong since Damian's death. And what was he going to do about it? Something insane. He was going to raise his brother from the dead.
1. Prologue

_ So I would choose to be with you_  
_That's if the choice were mine to make_  
_But you can make decisions too_  
_And you can have this heart to break_  
_And so it goes, and so it goes_  
_And you're the only one who knows_

_~Billy Joel_

* * *

**Prologue **

The boy stumbled his way up the front walk. A yellowing bandage was wrapped around the crown of his head; only tufts of his dark black hair were exposed to the outside air. One arm wrapped around his middle in attempts to slow the bleeding of the gash in his side. His other hand clutched the staff like a lifesaver. At this point it was the only thing holding him up.

He wobbled up to the front steps. He took a couple of shaky deep breaths before beginning his ascent.

It was only five steps. Five. That was the same amount of digits one had on a single hand. And by the time he was to the third stair, he was out of breath. At the fourth he was nauseous and dizzy. He collapsed upon the fifth stair and lay bleeding on the ground.

He was failing. He had failed. His eyes closed in resignation at the fact. But he couldn't give up. No, he promised he would make it back home and be safe. And he was going to fulfill his promise if it killed him.

Using the last of his strength, he used the staff in his hand and pressed it against the doorbell. He heard the echoing chime in the halls inside.

He rested his head against the step, ready to accept the inevitable.

The door opened and a dark-haired figure poked his head out. He looked around, but didn't see anyone on the stoop. He began to retreat back into the house.

"Di-ick," he croaked.

Bright blue eyes shot downward to the stairs, and the blue eyes grew as wide as saucers.

"Little D?"

Disbelief laced every inch of his voice. That was a voice he had never expected to hear again. He stared for a few seconds before rushing his younger brother and gathering him into his arms, mindful of the injuries on his person and ignoring the blood getting on his clothing. He turned and began running into the manor screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Bruce! Alfred! I need medical attention, STAT!"

The last thing before his vision completely faded to black was a familiar clock sliding open and the musky smell enter his nose.

* * *

"How can we be sure that it's him?" A snide voice asked. Jason Todd.

"DNA says it's him," another answered gently. Grayson.

"DNA can be cloned. Didn't you say that he said your first name? The Demon we knew would never address you, or us, as such," Todd retorted.

"Why don't you just ask him? He's awake now," A new voice said. Father.

He opened his eyes. Or as much as he could, one eye was swollen almost shut.

Damian's heart made a small leap in his chest. They were here for him.

"Fa-" his voice cracked. Dick immediately was at his side offering a glass of water with a straw. Damian took a few hesitant sips. He swallowed and looked to his father again.

"Father, what happened?"

"You suffered a concussion, a stab wound to your left side, narrowly missing your left lung, your knee was fractured and you lost a great deal of blood. You're lucky to even be alive."

To think he wasn't a few weeks ago.

There was silence after Bruce finished speaking. Bruce and Dick were looking at Damian and Jason was staring at his feet, arms crossed. Alfred walked into the room and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Alfred?" Bruce asked.

"That was the third time I have tried to contact Master Timothy within the past few hours, Master Bruce. There is still no answer on the other end."

A worried look crossed Dick's face. Timmy was never not near his phone. And even if he did miss a call, he was quick to call back.

Bruce allowed one eyebrow to rise. That was unlike his second youngest son.

Even Jason with his ever present scowl allowed for a moment of concern.

Damian's eyes filled with tears despite himself. Tears were still a sign of weakness, and Damian was not weak.

"Little D? What's wrong? Does this have anything to do with Tim?"

Damian looked away from his older brother. He couldn't tell. He failed. They would never accept him now.

"Damian?" Bruce pressed. "What do you know about Tim that you're not telling us?"

Damian looked to the other men in the room. Each had a concerned look on his face. A twinge of sadness washed over him.

"He's dead," he croaked out. He closed his eyes and a few tears escaped from his swollen eye.

"I killed him."

* * *

**A/N: And this is what happens when I read back my old comics with Damian and listen to Billy Joel at the same time. And I realize that the song may not mesh perfectly with what I'm writing, but jeez, it's enough to get pulling on your heart strings. **

**Also, I should mention, that this story could be the Reboot universe with origins, timeline, and characters from pre-reboot, OR it's pre-reboot already with a few elements of the reboot thrown in. Either way, it's au. **

**As always, review. :D**


	2. Chapter 1

_Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend_  
_Somewhere along in the bitterness_  
_And I would have stayed up with you all night_  
_Had I known how to save a life_  
_How to save a life_

_~The Fray_

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Weeks Earlier**

There was no one really at the funeral. There shouldn't have been anyway. Robin was the one who died, not Damian Wayne. Even if they had mentioned that Damian was dead, it would raise some suspicions. Instead they came up with the cover story he was out of the country learning abroad.

The few that were there were the ones that knew him best. Or thought they did. The kid was a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, covered with snarky arrogance. But now that was gone.

Tim stood above the coffin out in the rain. The rest of his rag-tag family had gone inside after they had thrown their handfuls of dirt onto the hole in the ground. Tim's handful was still clenched in his fist. This wasn't the way that he wanted, or expected this to end. He always expected him to go in a way where he was far outmatched in an effort to prove himself worthy, and the best of, the rest of them. No one expected that he would be done in by a clone of himself.

The rain soaked him to the bone and his long hair dripped water into his eyes. Vaguely he heard a voice in his head telling him to get his hair cut. Whether it was Dick's voice or Damian's, it didn't matter to him. Although if it was Dick's voice, he shouldn't he talking, he went through that whole mullet phase. A shiver ran down Tim's spine, whether from the memory or the wind in the rain, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the brat, his brother, was gone.

He fell to his knees, hand still clutching that fistful of dirt. It couldn't end this way. He should have done something more. Tried to make peace with him. Anything. Anything was better than what he did. Which was nothing.

He wasn't sure how long he was kneeling in the sopping grass before someone came and helped him up and into the house. He never looked at the face of the person that was leading him into the manor. But he could tell by the way that they draped a rain jacket upon his shoulders and held him close that it was Stephanie.

He didn't understand why she was doing this. Their relationship had ended a while ago. And while he still harbored feelings for her, they were locked away and buried deep down. Those feelings caused pain, for him, for her. So it was best they locked themselves away.

"You'll catch cold if you stay out here any longer," she said gently.

Tim didn't respond.

He allowed himself to be taken into his room where a towel and fresh clothes were waiting, courtesy of Alfred. Stephanie gave a slight rub on his back before leaving him to change out of his soaking clothing.

Slowly he peeled off the layers of his wet suit. He never really liked that suit anyways. He replaced his boxers but stood staring down at the rest of his clothes. Thankfully it wasn't another suit. It was a red t-shirt and a pair of his favorite pair of jeans. Damian had once made fun of them because of the fraying on the bottom and the red paint that had been spilt on them when he was repainting his room.

That brought up new emotions and tears began to fall again. Why couldn't he have stopped him from becoming Robin? Why did he have to fail him as well? It seemed like he had failed everyone. He had failed his father, he had failed Stephanie multiple times, he had failed his team, and he had failed Damian.

He curled in on himself and cried. That was how they found him an hour later, only in his boxers, head in his hands, still clutching that handful of dirt.

* * *

Bruce wasn't taking this well. He'd lost a son before with Jason. He thought he could understand what this time would be like, but he was wrong. Every little thing would remind him of Damian. The way that the sun had shown in his window in the morning waking him up causing him to pull the covers over his face. Down to the click-clack of Titus' nails as he searched the house for his master.

And now, everyone was in his living room, feeling the loss that he was. But it wasn't. They weren't related by blood in any way. Damian was his flesh. He had once imagined a future where he could see grandchildren running around. Not that any children that came from Dick, Jason, Tim or Cass wouldn't be his grandchildren as well. But there was something enticing in the way his imaginations played out. Not that Damian would ever be one to actually settle down and start a family. He was far too much like his father.

A short chuckle came out of Bruce's throat. He never intended on a family, and yet here they were. All in the same house without trying to strangle each other. Possibly a first for this family. But he was deeply grieved at the circumstances.

Taking a deep breath he walked out of the bathroom and into the living room where everyone else was. His eyes wandered to each member of his family.

Alfred was cleaning compulsively the mantle that didn't need any cleaning. He would never allow any type of spot to exist while he was alive and well. It was very much similar to when Jason was taken from them.

Speaking of the prodigal son, Jason was standing in the window bay staring out at the rain. His eyes were hard, yet glassed over. Bruce guessed that he was thinking about his own death. Absent-mindedly he played with one of his knives that he carried with him.

Dick was sitting on the sofa next to Barbara. He had been closest to Damian, possibly. He took Damian's death especially hard. Barbara had pulled his head into her lap and was stroking back his dark black hair in attempts to comfort him. The other's had tried, but Barbara's touch was the only one that he had responded to. His eyes were bloodshot and sniffles escaped him every now and then. Barbara tried to maintain her strong exterior, but Bruce knew that the moment she was alone, her barriers would break down and all the emotion she held inside would escape.

Stephanie didn't have any of those barriers and was unashamed of showing her emotion for all to see. She seemed to have been crying all day. Despite the insults that Damian had thrown at her she was genuinely felt the pain at his death. But as the day wore on, she gathered herself into a functional, if not complete individual again. She sat next to Cass on the sofa, holding a mug of hot chocolate that had long since cooled.

Cass was harder to read. She had spent most of her time away from the Manor doing work anonymously, limiting the interaction that she had had with her brother. She hadn't shed a tear, but there were other ways for her to show her grief. She just wouldn't share with them.

Finally Bruce looked at his younger son. Tim's reaction came out of left field. Bruce was sure that his two youngest hated each other for everything that they were worth. Damian hated the fact that Tim was included into the family despite being an imposter for the Wayne line. And Tim was wary of the boy for his background and his skills, along with the attitude. But the way that the boy broke down for his brother gave more depth into their relationship, than any of the petty fights they endured with each other.

Bruce stared at his family. How dare Talia do this to him? To them? How dare she take away her only son from his family? Rage surged through his veins. If he ever got hands on that woman, she would be very sorry that she ever tangled with his family.

The clock chimed seven in the evening. Usually, everyone would get up to suit up for patrol, but there was an unspoken agreement that there would be no patrol that night. They needed the time to mourn.

But that wasn't what Bruce needed. He needed someone to be on the other end of his swinging fist. Abruptly, he stood and walked out of the room and down to where his suit was. There was only one way for him to relieve himself now. Damn all consequences.

He pitied those who decided to tousle with him tonight.

* * *

A plan was formulating in his brain before he even realized that he could concoct such a thing. He found himself thinking about how things would happen if he would do something about it. What could he have done? Nothing. But what can he do now? That was the question that was at the forefront of his brain at nearly every waking moment of the day. Which was more than he would like to admit.

He would deny it if asked, but his insomnia had returned. Nothing that would have helped in the past did anything anymore. So he spent that time when he should have been sleeping watching. He watched as Cass left Gotham again, needing the space from the place. He watched as his brother Jason withdrew even further from the family. He no longer killed the criminals he caught, but he was not above brutal means of achieving what he wanted. He saw as grief drove Barbara and Dick even closer. They were the life rafts that kept the other afloat.

And his heart broke when he ran into Stephanie. Her wise-cracking had ceased almost completely. The radiant smiles that he loved were now rare and far between each other. He couldn't bear to see that amount of pain on her face. It was the same look that she would have when she was younger and thought about her daughter she gave up for adoption.

But as he watched them, he saw them progress and grow. Not wanting to waste time, Dick had asked Barbara to marry him for the second time. He didn't want anything to happen to either of them without having her know how he felt. She accepted.

Jason became more accepted within the family in and out of uniform. The shaky alliance in costume with the Commissioner was only accepted on the terms of some type of therapy and supervision.

But one person wasn't growing past in a healthy way, was the one that he was most worried about. Bruce was falling back into the habit that he had when Jason had died. At first he didn't think much of the broken limbs of the criminals that were turned in. But then Bruce came back home with a stab wound to his abdomen and nearly passed out from blood loss before he even made it into the cave.

That was when Tim knew that something needed to be done.

"Bruce, I think that you and I need to talk about your behavior of late. You're acting reckless-" Tim began.

Bruce slammed his bedroom door behind him, cutting off Tim and Alfred who had been following to be sure that Bruce made it to the bedroom alright. Tim's resolve hardened and he knew that something needed to be done before Bruce did something that would seriously hurt, or kill him. Tim stalked to his room to put in motion his plan.

He waited until the house was empty before bringing everything to action. He couldn't afford for his plans to be disturbed. They would stop him.

While in his room he packed. Every once and a while he would find himself staring at the plastic bag that held the dirt that was supposed to go into the grave. He couldn't bear to let it go. After he threw a few clothes in a rucksack, he gingerly placed that plastic bag in a leather pouch, before putting that in the satchel and throwing it over his shoulders.

As he sneaked out of his room and out of the house, he prayed that this wasn't a half-thought out idea that came from his insomnia. He also prayed that no one would come by unexpectedly and question what he was doing.

He had already hidden the backhoe and the crowbar behind the bushes in the forest. He got in one of the inconspicuous cars and drove down to the plot, ready for everything to begin.

He worked as quickly as he possibly could. There was no grass yet over the dirt, and digging was quickly moved aside. Once he was down far enough, he crawled into the hole and pried open the casket. A small voice in his brain yelled at him to stop and allow Damian to rest in peace and that this was a crazy idea that would never work.

He ignored it.

Tim pried the casket open and looked at the boy inside. He was only eleven. Tim wiped sweat and tears from his face. He closed his eyes, giving a silent prayer to whoever may be out there, before pulling the body out of the casket and throwing the boy over his shoulder. He grunted under the weight.

"I didn't think that you would be so heavy," he muttered.

He carried his brother's corpse to the car he had waiting. He covered him with a blanket in such a way that if anyone looked inside, they would think that he would simply be sleeping. Then he got in and drove to the main house. Tim stopped the car, and cast a look to his brother before running into the house for one last time, leaving a letter on the kitchen island, where he was sure they would find it.

Giving one last look at the Manor he drove off the estate and towards a private flight he arranged to be waiting for him at the airport.

* * *

_Hi Bruce, _

_I realize in all likelihood that it won't be you who is going to read this first, but I can't allow you to go down this path. I first came to you after the death of Jason, your son, my brother, a few years ago. You were in a bad place and I wanted to help you out of it. In the process I managed to become a part of your family, and I am thankful for every minute of it. But you're sliding back into that place again. I've tried to talk to you about it, but every attempt on my behalf has failed. So in a drastic attempt to bring you back from going over that edge again, I'm leaving. You may have figured out what I'm planning to do. But know this. You can't stop me. So don't try. There is a likelihood that this will fail. But if I succeed, well, how about we leave what happens next to when I get back. _

_As always, your son,_

_Tim_

* * *

Bruce dropped the paper and immediately looked with horror at the butler who'd handed him the paper. Alfred had read only the first few sentences, but the way that the letter was set up, nothing could come from it that was good. It was the setup for a goodbye letter.

Bruce ran out of the house and down to the small graveyard on his property. His heart nearly stopped when he saw that small backhoe and the pile of dirt next to it. He leapt into the hole and nearly threw up when he saw the empty casket.

"No, no, no, goddammit."

By the time Alfred had walked down to where Bruce was he was finishing his call with his second oldest son.

"NO. I don't care what you are doing right now. We have an emergency, priority alpha." He paused listening. "Jason, if your ass isn't over here in the next ten minutes, there will be no time for you to even think about doing that."

He hung up the phone and stared at his son's casket for only a moment more before stalking back to the house. Alfred followed behind, keeping in step.

"If you don't mind me asking sir, what does young Master Tim have planned with Master Damian's body?"

Bruce didn't answer his butler. He only grit his teeth a bit more. He understood that recently he'd been slipping back into a reckless man with a vengeance that no longer cared. He thought that he didn't really care anymore. His son was dead. But upon reading Tim's letter, he realized that there was more that he had to live for. He had Tim, and Dick, and Jason. And if he was right, he may lose another one.

He stood on the front porch arms crossed waiting for his other sons. When he saw the motorcycle and the car indicating his sons' arrival, he walked into the kitchen.

"Hey Bruce, what's the big deal that you needed to see us immediately? Barbara wasn't too happy I left in the middle of preparing dinner," Dick said jogging in behind Bruce. Jason was quick to follow.

"Yeah, what's the big idea? I only get so much time to just relax."

Bruce pointed at the letter. Dick picked it up and upon recognizing his younger brother's handwriting read it thoroughly. Jason peered over his older brother's shoulder to read. Once done a slightly confused look was upon Dick's face. Jason's face had paled the further he read.

"What is he planning to do B?" Dick asked. He looked back at his younger, but taller, brother. "Jay? What is Timmy doing?"

"The Lazarus Pits. Tim is going to put Damian into the Lazarus Pits," Bruce said.

The letter fell to the floor for the third time that night.

* * *

**A/N: And the plot begins moving along. As always, review. **


	3. Chapter 2

_ It's only lies that I'm living_

_ It's only tears that I'm crying_

_ It's only you that I'm losing_

_ Guess I'm doing fine _

_~Beck_

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Trying to pass off a corpse as a sleeping child wasn't as hard as Tim had expected. Rest Damian's head on his shoulder and cover the rest of the body with a blanket. He wondered how often Dick or Bruce had to carry Damian to his room after a long patrol because he fell asleep. Tim remembered when he would fall asleep at the Bat-computer and Alfred would cover him in a blanket.

Setting Damian down and making sure that the blanket covered most of his body. Tim closed the door to the outside of the plane and walked to the cockpit. He strapped himself in and began the checks to fly. If anyone questioned why the seventeen year-old was flying a private jet, nothing was said. Had anything been said, Tim would have taken off anyway. He didn't have the time to afford delays.

It was imperative that Tim get Damian into those pits as quickly as he possibly could.

He lifted the throttle and the plane began to move forward. Once he got up to speed, the tires left the ground and he was in the air. He climbed higher in the air until he got to cruising altitude. Tim set the plane to autopilot and turned to his younger brother's body.

He opened his mouth to talk to him, but shut it again. He should save the explanation for when Damian was back and hating him with every fiber in his being. But Tim's explanations would probably receive the same amount of listening from Damian after he gets him back as he would get at this moment. So he turned back to flying the plane.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

* * *

Jason followed behind a pissed Bruce and a worried Dick. Alfred was behind him, and Jason was sure that he was worried but being the English gentleman that he was, didn't allow it to be shown on his face.

"But my question is why would Tim go to the Lazarus Pits with Damian? I know that he was more distraught at Damian's death than we thought he would have, but does really mean that he would risk his life to sneak into Talia's ranks to resurrect him?" Dick asked stopping behind Bruce as he sat in the chair in front of the Batcomputer.

Jason gripped the letter tightly in his hand. If he had realized what the kid was planning, then he would have stopped him, Tim didn't understand what he was doing. He'd experienced the pit first hand. That pit does things to the victim's brain. Jason himself came out half mad, and it was months before he managed to string together a thought that wasn't basic survival instincts. Jason rubbed the white streak of hair on his forehead. A constant reminder of the madness he was subjected to.

When, or if, that kid ever came back, he was sure to congratulate him on his guts, or he was going to strangle him for his stupidity. Or both.

_Goddammit, Replacement. I thought you were supposed to be the fucking smart one. Didn't you realize that this is going to lead you to your death?_ Jason thought to himself.

"He was watching. Like he always does," Bruce said. Jason looked at him.

"Watching? What does that mean?" Jason asked. His eyes narrowed at the look that was shared between the other three members of the family. He was missing a part of the story and he felt that it was a key in figuring out why his replacement went to his doom.

Dick looked to his father figure before turning to his younger brother. He took a deep breath.

"Do you know how Tim came to be a Robin?"

Jason stayed silent. His brain was still a bit addled when he first encountered Tim, and all that could get across into his brain was that he was replaced. He never tried to understand why really.

"It was after your death, when he first came to us."

_Well, no shit. _

"And- don't give me that look- he had noticed that Bruce was in a bad place. He was behaving reckless and seemed to forgo all caution when it came to getting his man. It was so bad that even the papers seemed to see that something was greatly upsetting him. And Tim, wanting Bruce to remember just who Batman was supposed to be, came to me while I was at Haly's circus with images of Bruce, Batman after one of his most recent fights."

_Whoa, Replacement. Who would've thought that you were a damn stalker?_

"He wanted me to be Robin again, and I couldn't go back to that. So in desperation, he dressed as Robin and followed me. Two-Face was loose and Bruce and I fell into the trap. Tim saved us. It took a while for Bruce to come to terms with having a new Robin, but eventually Tim proved that it was just what Bruce needed."

Jason stayed silent after the story was finished. He'd ever given much thought to just how his replacement was initiated. He never even bothered to find out. He was all too focused on the fact that there was a new Robin and that the Joker was still alive to think about what were insignificant details at the time.

"But that doesn't tell us just why he would something as so damned stupid as going into the middle of the al Ghul stronghold to resurrect the boy that they now considered an enemy? I mean, what the hell?" Jason folded his arms.

"Tim has always wanted the best for us. That is why he came after you died. Back then, he offered to help heal the void you left. And now, he's too close to the heartbreak," Bruce explained, while tapping keys on the keyboard.

"Sir, if he's too close, his judgment may be impaired. We may be able to bring him back around to see that he doesn't need to risk his life," Alfred put in stepping out from the shadows.

"If we could get him to see that this time isn't the same, and that Bruce doesn't need such drastic measures," Dick added.

"But it's not." Bruce said deadpanned.

Jason looked to his adopted father. An eyebrow raised itself. Everyone waited for Bruce to continue.

"Tim was right. I'm behaving the same. I thought that since I had made it through your death Jason that I was capable of going through this without any effects. I was wrong. I forgot that I have you boys now. I didn't see what was right in front of me. Stupid!" Bruce's fist slammed down into the keyboard. It didn't break, but there was a large dent. "Stupid and Careless! Now, because of that, I may lose my second youngest son."

There was silence in the Cave. It even seemed as the bats that hung above them knew what had just happened and were silent as well. Jason's scowl looked at Dick and Alfred. Bruce's back was still to them.

"So, what do we do to get them back?"

* * *

_"This is Control. Your craft is cleared for decent."_

"Roger," Tim answered. He turned back to look at his only passenger. "Hope you're ready for this, Damian."

Slowly he brought the plane down from its cruising altitude and the plane bounced a little as the tires touched down on the asphalt. Tim slowed the plane until it was almost to a stop. He followed the directions provided by the traffic controllers. He gathered his small knapsack as soon as the jet was parked in the garage. He heard the door to the cabin open as an attendant came in.

The moment he made eye contact with the man he held a finger to his lips. The other man only smiled.

"When did he fall asleep?" He asked.

"Little guy fell asleep just as we were beginning our descent. About time anyway. He kept bothering me. Do you know how hard it is to fly a jet when your little brother demands your attention?" Tim responded picking up Damian, making sure that the blanket was still covering most of his body.

It felt strange that Damian wasn't breathing against him.

The man only chuckled. He shook his head. He had no other siblings. Nor did he know how to pilot an aircraft.

"Well, have a good night," Tim said walking past the man out into the Arabian night air. He walked towards the car he chartered. Tim placed his brother's body in the car, being mindful of the boy's head and the doorframe. He re-tucked the blanket around the boy before he got into the driver's side and drove away.

The man stopped his cleaning and watched the dark car until it was out of sight. He pulled out a cell phone from his back pocket and speed dialed a number required to be learned by heart.

"Hello? Yeah, you were right. They are bringing the kid. Get ready. But you'll never guess who the one to bring him was."

* * *

"So why can't we just go and get him?" Dick was pacing. After a quick call to Barbara explaining just what was going on, he spent the rest of the evening down in the cave simply pacing, wondering why his brother would risk his life for something that might kill him.

"Master Dick, I'm sure that it's not quite as simple as going and retrieving the young Master Tim," Alfred said wisely.

"Alfred's right Dick, Ra's had located multiple Lazarus pits around the world. Tim could be heading to any one of them," Bruce reasoned, not looking from the computer he was so rapidly typing away at.

"No he wouldn't. He would go to the heart of it all. He knows that that was where I was, er, dumped, so he knows that it works. Besides, I may have destroyed some of the other ones while I was a bit whacked," Jason added.

Dick rubbed his hands on his face. He didn't look up when his mouth opened to speak.

"Let me see if I've got everything that you've been saying. Tim dug up Damian and is planning on dunking him in the Lazarus Pit to restore Damian's life, all to make Bruce realize that he's going down a path that could lead to self-destruction, but in doing so he has to go into the heart of Talia's empire, in which there is a high probability that he's going to get himself killed because they aren't just going to let him waltz in to use their pits. Is that correct?"

"Yep."

"Brilliant. So how do we get him back?" Great. Back to square one. Again.

There was silence as everyone thought about it.

"We don't."

"But Bruce, there has to be a way to get Timmy back to us. Can't we send in Cass or someone from the league? They would gladly help us." Dick was close to pleading now, but it was his little brother on the line. He couldn't go through a third loss.

Jason snorted. "Send in the League or Cass? Are you sure you even have a brain in there Golden Boy?"

"What? Why wouldn't that be a viable option?" Dick asked stopping his pacing and stared at his younger brother.

"Think for a moment Dick. None of the others in the League know their way around that compound the way that we do, nor do they know what they would be getting themselves into. They would make more of a mess than they would do any help. And I understand they would want to help, but that could give more players in the game to map out. And think for a moment about your sister. Think of her background, of the reason's that she was born for. There would be no hesitation on her part to get Tim out of there, but at what cost?"

Dick paused, Bruce was right. What would the cost be to go in and save Tim? He ran through the scenarios in his head. None of them ended in any way that would please anyone. Most of them ended in his brother obtaining serious injury, or dead.

Dick sat on the ground and looked up at his family. Jason was leaning against the rail with his arms crossed, hands gripping tightly to the sleeves of his leather jacket. Bruce had spun around to make eye contact with his sons and father-figure. One hand rested still on the keyboard. Alfred approached and rested a hand on Dick's shoulder.

"So now we just wait?"

Jason kicked a rock across the floor. "Now we fucking wait."

* * *

The drive through the desert went along much slower than Tim remembered. But then again the last time he was coming here, he wasn't planning on dumping his brother's dead body in a pit to bring him back to life.

Not for the first time that day, Tim wondered what he was doing. And above all, he wondered why he kept thinking of the little demon was his brother. They shared no blood, and were not related in any way, save for the fact that Bruce had adopted Tim and was Damian's biological father. But there was something about the kid that Tim had grown to appreciate, even if he didn't quite trust him. The kid was passionate.

It was something that everyone in the family had.

Finally, finally, he came to the spot where he would hide his vehicle. He pulled in and shut off the vehicle. Tin walked to the other side of the vehicle and pulled out Damian. He rested him on the blanket down on the ground.

Popping open the trunk he pulled out the tarp he had stashed. He threw it over the vehicle, securing it down with rocks. Now came the tricky bit. How to get inside the compound without attracting attention.

Tim supposed he dress as a part of their assassins, but that would require the effort to match their uniforms exactly. That would take time, and time was the one thing that he didn't have.

_Stealthy ninja it is then_, He thought to himself.

Then comes the other park of the problem. How to get Damian inside the compound. The boy wasn't just going to walk in there all by himself. Tim would have to bring him in, but that wasn't going to be easy. Damian had grown taller in the years that Tim had known him, and was nearing Tim's height. To carry someone that was near your height wasn't the easiest thing in the world. Besides, he needed his hands free in case there was a fight.

Not that he was looking for a fight.

He would rather get in, get the job done, and get back home. But he needed to be prepared for any contingency.

He pulled out his grappling hook and cut the rope from the hook. Bruce would kill him if he knew that Tim was deliberately destroying his equipment. Tim brushed that thought aside. If he thought too much on things other than his task at hand, he may turn back.

Quickly he cut and stripped the line and made a type of sling out of it. Looking it over, he wished he had time to refine it, but it would have to do for the moment. He was only going to need it for the way in. Because on the way out Damian better be able to walk on his feet again. Or he would be dead and there wouldn't need to have to worry about coming out again.

He shook his head. He couldn't think like that.

Finally somewhat satisfied with his handiwork, he slipped Damian's arms and legs into the device. Then he slipped it onto his own shoulders. Damian's cold cheek rested on the back of his neck, chilling him through his hair. One leg of Damian's rested on either side of his hips, and was glad that Damian was dead at this moment. Because Damian would die of embarrassment, or he would slit Tim's throat.

Whichever one would be most accessible for him.

Tim adjusted the dead weight and began his hike towards the secret entrance into the compound. He parked a few miles away; it was too risky to park right at the edge of their compound. But as he started he realized that he should have thought about the desert heat and carrying a dead body before he began.

It was too late to go back now.

* * *

**A/N: I apologize if anyone was out of character in this scene. I've never written from Jason's POV before, so I'm hoping that it's all right. So, like always, leave a comment. I really need to come up with a better way to say that. **


	4. Chapter 3

_Hey young blood  
Doesn't it feel like our time is running out?  
I'm gonna change you like a remix  
Then I'll raise you like a phoenix_

_~Fall Out Boy_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_"But you'll never guess who the one to bring him was." _

There was a pause on the other end of the line. The woman holding the phone pursed her lips and her fingers tapped against the wood grain of her chair. She was not a terribly patient woman when it came to things that she didn't know.

"Spit it out. I haven't got all day. There is much for me to do."

_"The third one. Black? Blake?"_

"Drake."

_"Yeah, that's the one. He's on his way with the boy's body. I would get everyone ready."_

She snapped her phone shut ending the call. Her men were used to the abrupt endings to most of the conversations that they would have with her.

This presented her with a problem. The others she could deal with. The circus boy was a nuisance, but dealing with him would not be an issue. He was a good soldier, but more often than not, he allowed emotions to cloud his judgment. Todd was similar in the same way. Only he was more apt to go for an outcome that would benefit him more than others. Her Beloved she knew how to get him to do what she wanted. He may protest and attempt to do his own will, but in the end, she would always get what she wants.

But Drake. He was a different breed. He had the intelligence of her own Beloved, but possessed the heart of the circus boy, and every bit as willing to do what it would take to protect those he loved. He had even earned her father's respect and the title of Detective, a title previously held by her Beloved.

But why would he be the one to bring back her son?

From what she knew about his relationship with her son, Drake had hated Damian. Damian hadn't like the older boy either, and he made no qualms about keeping it hidden. He'd even tried to kill his adopted brother.

So why would Drake be the one to bring back Damian?

"Leave me," Talia said waving away her guards.

"Yes, Princess." Obediently they backed away out of her sight. She knew that they weren't far into the shadows. Orders from her father, she figured.

She stood from the chair she had been reclining on and began to walk about her room with her hands clasped behind her back. She tossed her head aside, removing her hair from in front of her face. Her hard face became harder as she thought about what to do.

Talia chewed over the two options that presented themselves to her. Both plans needed to be carried out perfectly in order to prevent any unnecessary, damages.

She stared at the trunk that contained all of the mementos of a dream long forgotten. Her decision was made clear. She snapped her fingers to summon one of her guards.

"Yes?" He asked obediently.

"Post extra guards around the Pit. No one goes in without my authority first. Extra patrols around the perimeter until further notice. Understand?" Talia said not looking behind her at the assassin.

"Yes." He turned to leave.

"And one more thing. My father is to have no word of this. Is that clear?" Her voice dripped with venom.

"Yes, Princess."

He left the room and Talia looked towards the setting sun, thinking about things had they gone the way that she had planned.

* * *

The hike to the secret entrance took a few more hours than he thought that it would actually take. He thought that he would be able to get to the entrance before sundown and her he was, finally getting to the doorway to the future and the moon was lighting up the desert. But he made it.

It took all of his strength to move aside the large bolder that sat in front of the hole leading down to the pit. He wasn't as strong as Bruce or Jason, or even Nightwing, his physical form prevented that, but he was going to do this. And he did. It may have taken him a little longer than he would have liked with Damian strapped to his back, but he made due.

Tim took a small sip of water. He needed to save most of it for Damian. Not that he had personal experience, but he assumed that when Damian came out he would want to have something to drink.

He ducked under into the tunnel, being careful of Damian's head. Although he didn't understand just why he was being so careful. He was just going to dump Damian in a pit that would restore him to his body and heal all of the injuries that he might receive. And yet he was careful. Respect for the dead, he assumed.

Tim crept down the tunnel, listening to the water drip on the puddle on the floor. He crouched, being a little taller than what the tunnel actually allowed for. But in crouching he was dragging the tops of Damian's red converse against the rock floor. Tim allowed a half wince. Damian took pride in his shoes and would kill anyone who damaged his stuff. He could just feel the fifty dollars to buy him new ones leave his pocket already.

He continued his trek. He didn't know just how long he had been walking. His muscles were beginning to ache from carrying Damian and crouching for the extended period of time. He stopped suddenly when heard the whispered murmurings of people. It took him a moment to realize that they were speaking in Arabic. Even though his Arabic was a bit rusty, he managed to understand the last half of the sentence.

"-why we're here."

There was a noise, maybe a snort, but the talking ended after that. The men that were there knew better than to try and follow their own thoughts. That was treason and traitors were killed.

He pulled out a few of the darts that were laced with an anesthetic that would knock them out for a few hours. But that was much longer than he needed. From what he'd gathered from Jason and from others when he thought he would bring back his loved ones, the process would only take a few minutes. If that.

Tim was tempted to take Damian off of his back and come back for him after he'd dealt with the guards, but he didn't want to leave an opportunity for Damian's body to be stolen away.

So he crept forward. He pulled the dart gun from one of his pockets and readied to fire the first dart. Tim knew that he would have to work quickly once he blew the first dart to get the other assassins. He peeked over a rock and took a survey of those that were there.

Ten. He took out a few more of the darts and rolled them in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he blew the first dart.

The assassin fell to the ground with a small thump. Quickly Tim reloaded his dart gun, aimed, and shot another. He too went down. And it didn't matter how fast he knocked out the assassins, it wasn't fast enough.

One of the guards turned around and looked to see six of his comrades on the ground with bat-darts sticking out of their exposed skin. As he was opening his mouth a dart was sticking out of his neck. He collapsed, his sword clanging against the rock around him. Another spun at the noise semi-automatic ready to fire.

"Damn!" He shouted, gun aiming at the walls without any direction. A dart hit him in the shoulder and as he fell, his finger pulled the trigger, firing a few shouts up into the roof.

"We're under attack! Inform the Princess!" One of them shouted.

Tim darted the one that was speaking and watched as one of their number escape out into the main part of the compound.

"Dammit," Tim muttered. His timeline got much more compact.

He hopped down from the perch where he was standing and went to the Pit avoiding the unconscious assassins on the ground. He withdrew one of Batarangs and cut the rope holding up the makeshift harness, unceremoniously dropping Damian to the ground. He reached down, hastily removed the line and picked up Damian's body.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered before tossing his little brother into the glowing waters of the Lazarus pit.

* * *

The assassin ran as quickly as he could through the twisting turns and tunnels as he tried to get the main hall. He didn't think about using the intercom system to alert the rest to the intruder's presence. Adrenaline was running through his system as he finally crashed through the main hall's doors.

The conversation that was in the room ceased. All eyes turned to see who had entered the room. Their eyes were cold and expectant, wondering who had interrupted their solitude. The princess turned her eyes from the plans she had been reviewing to look at him.

He swallowed. For a moment he forgot just why he ran all the way here. Talia cleared her throat.

"The Pit is under attack," He said finally with no amount of wavering in his voice. "Unknown amount of attackers. I never got a look at them."

"One."

"Pardon?" He asked. His eyes never wavered from staring straight ahead of him.

"A single attacker. One of by Beloved's wards, there to resurrect my son. Take a legion and apprehend him. He must not be allowed to place my son in the Pit." She turned back to the plans that she had been reviewing.

The assassin stood there for a little bit longer.

"What are you waiting for? Go."

He gave a little jump and quickly turned to find a legion that would break from their training or patrol that would take on the single intruder. But as he ran through the tunnels to where there would be such a platoon, he wondered.

_What kind of a kid has the ability to take down nearly a dozen of the best trained assassins without revealing himself? And would one more group of assassins be enough to stop him?_

* * *

His heart was beating loudly. He was sure that those on the other side of the door could hear every best of his heart. He always hated these types of house calls. Not that he had to do many of them, considering that everyone that would be interested practically lived all in one place.

He was doing this against possibly his better judgment. He was certainly doing this against Bruce's wishes. Bruce didn't want to involved any more people than were already involved. Himself, Bruce, Alfred, Jason, and Barbara. But Dick knew that one more person that needed to be told.

Dick raised his hand to knock on the apartment door. He faltered and his hand lowered. Another hand gripped his reassuringly. He looked down to see his red-headed fiancée giving an understanding smile. She reached out and knocked on the door. Barbara squeezed his hand as the door opened.

A bathrobe and towel wearing Stephanie Brown opened the door.

"Oh, hey guys. What's up?" She said with a smile. She wiped a stray blonde hair from her face.

Dick tried to give a smile, but his heart weighed too heavy for him to keep it up on his face for longer than a fleeting second. Stephanie took notice.

"What's wrong?" She asked her bright blue eyes shifting back and forth from the two people at her door.

"Perhaps it would be best if we brought this conversation indoors. We probably won't want wandering ears to overhear private information," Barbara said.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, c'mon in. Don't mind the mess, or my wardrobe." She opened the door wider and allowed for Dick and Barbara to enter.

"Don't worry about it, Dick has a habit of not wearing anything around my apartment after he gets out of the shower," Barbara shared, smirk on her face.

Dick choked for a moment under the combined smirks of both heroines. He rested his hand on a chair as he regained his breath. "That only happened once. It just so happened that all of my clothes were in the laundry at the time. And, _you said that you were never going to mention that again_."

"Whoops. But we are here for another reason, not to discuss your wardrobe when you exit the shower."

The somber mood returned with full force. Dick deflated onto the secondhand sofa in the living room. Stephanie sat next to him, careful not to show anyone what they wouldn't want to see.

"What's going on?"

Dick opened his mouth for a moment, but shut it again. He took a deep breath, and with his eyes closed, spewed out his news.

"Tim's gone."

"What? What do you mean Tim's gone? He's not- He can't-"

"We don't know," Barbara inserted.

"What do you mean you don't know? You should know if you're here to tell me that he's gone."

"He's gone into the League of Assassins to use their Lazarus Pit."

Stephanie stood up sharply. She looked rapidly from Barbara to Dick. She began to slowly shake her head at the thought.

"No. No, he wouldn't do that. He knows that that would basically lead to suicide. And he didn't even like Damian. Why would he risk his life for someone that he didn't even like? I thought that he was smarter than that. Oh, God. Timmy." She sank to the floor.

Barbara wheeled over to comfort her protégé. Stephanie clutched tightly to Barbara's waist, tears ghosting down her cheeks.

"How could he do this? I thought that we meant more to him than this." Stephanie sniffled.

"Oh, honey, we do. There is nothing that he wouldn't do to keep us happy and safe. He puts his own health in jeopardy whenever one of us is in any type of trouble. He's that darn workaholic complex, ya'know?"

Dick watched as the two women held each other at the news. A part of him wondered if he should have kept his mouth shut. Putting Steph through all of this pain hurt. But another part of him defended his actions. Steph live in Gotham and would notice the absence of her ex-boyfriend, if not sooner than later. Cass was one thing who often went out of touch, but Steph was in constant contact.

Steph turned her face to look at Dick.

"Are we going to get him back?"

"It's hard to say Steph. It's really hard to say," He responded. It only took him a moment before he joined his fiancée and a close friend on the floor in their embrace. Together they just held each other and waited for a brighter day to come.

* * *

He couldn't breathe. He could feel as his lungs tried to expand, yet no air was entering into them. His heart was beating, yet he knew he was dying, dead. A living corpse. He waited for oblivion to surround him. But each passing moment was added agony. Why wasn't he dying?

His eyes shot open. He expected to see the Heretic standing above him with his own blood dripping down the sword. Instead he saw glowing green water. In shock, he inhaled. He clawed his way out.

His lungs hit oxygen and he began coughing. His ears heard something, but were unable to place it. He clawed at whatever was tightening around his neck. His wild blue eyes searched frantically.

Then he realized that it was him who was screaming.

* * *

**A/N: Ta-Da! Guess who's back?! The action should be picking up now. And remember to review. :D**


	5. Chapter 4

_Tears stream down your face_  
_I promise you I will learn from my mistakes_  
_Tears stream down your face_  
_And I...[...]__And I will try to fix you._

_~Coldplay _

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Tim watched the pit as it continued to bubble. He wouldn't deny that it felt like his heart was in a vice grip. If this failed, then everything was lost. He wouldn't be able to go back to the Manor. They wouldn't be able to understand just what this was.

His breathing was uneasy as he waited. There was no turning back. Hell, there had been no turning back since he had dug up his brother from his grave.

There it was again. The Demon was not his brother. In no way, shape or form was the Demon his brother. There was no way someone who's tried to kill you multiple times could be a brother. Yes, Jason had tried to kill him previously, but since then, Jason had tried to make it up to Tim. And while it wasn't perfect more than often than not, but he was trying.

It was more than the Demon ever did.

But in all honesty, a part of it was Tim's fault. He didn't give Damian that opportunity to accept him as a part of the family. Tim swore he would do better this time around.

And so he was waiting.

He wasn't waiting long. Moments after he thrown Damian into the pit, there were more bubbles floating to the surface. He wasn't quite sure what was happening, but something was definitely happening. He just hoped that it was the right thing.

He heard the screaming first. That would be something that would never leave his memories for the rest of his life. He had never heard something so animalistic, so raw, so _pained_ in his life. The waters erupted, throwing glowing waters everywhere throughout the cavern. A dark haired head appeared above the waters.

The child frantically paddled around in the waters, continuing to scream. There was a moment where it appeared he didn't remember how to swim and would drown inside the glowing waters. But within a second, Damian gathered his bearings and paddled towards the shore. He was still yelling.

For a moment Tim allowed himself to feel relief. He did it. He brought Damian back. He hadn't been entirely sure that it would work. Now he needed to get Damian to follow him out of there and get back to Gotham and Bruce.

Damian crawled out of the pit and stared at all of the people that were on the ground unconscious. His screaming had ceased, but he was tense, waiting for an attack of some sort.

Tim waited for a moment before trying to call to him. He needed to be careful about this.

"Damian?" He tried to be as non-threatening as he possibly could. But considering Damian had threatened to break his face when they first met, anything could happen.

Damian turned sharply at the sound of his name. His wild blue eyes jerked around for the source of his name. He stared at Tim for a moment. Tim was shocked at how feral Damian's eyes were. Damian's eyes went down to see the batarangs in Tim' hands. A sound like a growl escaped his throat and he flipped backwards. Away from Tim.

Even though he was trying not to care, Tim still felt a little hurt at the way Damian was attempting to escape him. After the initial flip, Damian scrambled backwards, not wanting to let Tim out of his sight.

Damian's foot caught on a rock and he landed on his butt. It took him no longer than it was to throw a ball, but he was up and running.

Tim realized just where he was running.

"Damian! Stop! That's the wrong way!" He called starting to run after the boy.

"Dammit," Tim grumbled when Damian slipped through the door to the rest of the main compound. He couldn't let Damian be killed again.

Sprinting he ran to catch up with Damian. Damn kid was fast. By the time he caught up with Damian, they were nearly in the main compound. Damian's fleeing back was getting closer when suddenly Damian stopped short in front of him. Tim didn't have to wonder very long why he had stopped so.

That was when the guns started to fire.

Tim took a deep breath and pushed himself harder. As he came near Damian, he grabbed his shoulders and spun around, using his own body as a shield. He felt a burning sensation in his shoulder, but ignored it.

"Run," He shouted at Damian.

Still maintaining his grip on Damian, Tim ran pulling him behind him. Damian surprisingly didn't resist. Tim could hear the assassins still in hot pursuit behind him as he passed the Lazarus Pit. Suddenly Damian's hand wasn't in his anymore.

It seemed as he turned in slow motion. His heart did a flip when he saw Damian on the ground blood coming from his forehead.

"Shit. I know you'll probably kill me for this later, but we need to get out of here," Tim said scrambling to pick up his brother. There was a small groan of protest, but Tim ignored it.

He was too slow. By the time he had Damian in his arms, assassins were beginning to encircle him.

Tim pulled out one of his batarangs and held it out. The other hand clutched Damian closer to his body. He wasn't going to give up his brother.

But he was wondering why he wasn't dead yet. He knew that there would be orders from Talia to stop him at all costs, and that would include shooting him, stabbing him, or other ways of making him dead. His only guess was that they didn't know what to do, considering that Damian was very much breathing and alive in his arms. He edged towards the hole he had come through.

"Freeze!" Someone shouted as they noticed that Tim was moving.

With a small slip of the wrist, Tim let loose a smoke pellet. The area quickly filled with a dark grey smoke. Tim ran into the tunnel, throwing some more batarangs back behind them. There were slight thumps as they made connections to the rocks on the ceiling. Tim waited a few more seconds to get farther down the tunnel before they exploded, blocking anyone from following them from that way.

Tim sighed in relief, but never slowed his run.

* * *

"My apologies, Your Highness, but Drake escaped," said one of the assassins as he bowed on his knees.

Talia gripped her sword tighter. That was not what she wanted to hear.

"And what of the boy?" Talia resumed running through her drills. She ignored the fluttering of her heart at the thought that Drake may have succeeded at resurrecting her son.

"Drake had already thrown him into the Pit. Our apologies," he said.

Talia could feel the conflicting emotions rising within herself. She squashed the happiness quickly with her anger. How could her men have failed her in such a way? These men were the best. They had to be in order to be a part of her father's organization. And yet a child was able to get past her defenses and succeed in his task.

"How did he get in the compound to begin with?" She asked tightly controlling her anger.

"It appears that there was a tunnel of some sort leading right to the Pits. This had to have been the point of entry and escape. They collapsed it as they escaped."

Talia picked up a throwing disk and sank it into the jugular of a mannequin near where the few soldiers in the room were standing. If they were surprised, then they didn't show it.

"Any other information that may have escaped your mind?" She growled.

The assassin that had been speaking fell silent. He didn't want to risk angering her any further. One of the newer recruit's eyes looked back and forth from Talia to the one who had been speaking. He opened his mouth, before shutting it again.

"If you have something to say, then I suggest that you say it," Talia said without looking up from her blades.

"Well, it appears as if the boy didn't recognize Drake and ran from him. Drake eventually caught up with the boy and intervened when we fired at the boy. A bullet managed to find its way into Drake's shoulder."

Something in Talia paused. This might not be as much as a disaster as she thought. An injured protector wouldn't be able to put up as much as a fight as someone who was at full capacity. If they were able to find them before they managed to get back to Gotham and the safety under the bat's wings, she would never get them.

"Find them. Do not let them find their way back to Gotham at any cost. Mr. Drake may have won the battle, but I fully intend to win this war. Dismissed."

The assassins quickly got out of Talia's room.

Talia picked up one of her daggers and tested the tip to be sure that it was sharp enough. A small pinprick of blood appeared. Turning she stared at one of the dummies about the room.

"You will not evade me again, Mr. Drake."

The knife sunk into a dummy right where his heart would be.

* * *

By this time, Tim was gasping for air. He had been running for a few miles now, and normally that wouldn't be any sort of issue. But the adrenaline had worn away much earlier in the night and carrying Damian in his arms was draining. Not to mention that there was a bullet in his shoulder. He needed to stop and rest for the night.

But he couldn't. He needed to at least make it to the car. That was wear he had left the rest of his supplies, clothes, extra water, and the weapons that he couldn't carry when Damian was dead.

Not that it mattered; he still ended up carrying Damian anyway.

When he finally saw the car through the dark, he sighed. Tim was physically exhausted and loosing blood. He needed to medically attend to his shoulder quickly. In all actuality, Tim was surprised that he hadn't already passed out.

Damian's mouth was shut for the entire run. There was a little while where Tim thought that he had actually fallen asleep. Which wouldn't have been good if that cut on his head was a concussion. He hadn't time to check yet, being on the run. But he was pleasantly surprised when he looked down to see that Damian was still awake, but keeping his mouth quiet.

Tim set Damian down at the side of the car and knelt down to look Damian in the eye.

"Damian? I need you to stay by me, you can't go running off. Do you understand?" Tim asked.

"I may have just been raised via Lazarus pit, but I am not mentally challenged, nor am I a child needing simple instructions," was the small response he got.

"Well, it's good to know that the right personality made its way back to the living," Tim grumbled. Why was he doing this again?

He pushed aside those thoughts and pulled out his satchel. He rustled through it for a moment before pulling out a few clothes and medical supplies. Painfully he managed to pull off his own shirt and began to inspect his shoulder. He prodded around for the bullet to see if it was still inside. He was somewhat relieved to see it was a clear through and through. Tim began the process of cleaning and dressing the wound.

Damian kept his mouth shut during the entire process. He only watched as Tim winced a few times as he wrapped his shoulder tightly. Once Tim was finished, he threw a spare shirt on over the top and withdrew a flashlight and antiseptic pads from his bag.

"Damian, I'm gonna clean out your wound now and check for a concussion. Can you follow my finger and answer a couple questions?" Tim asked readying his supplies.

"Tt. Fine."

"What's my name?" Tim asked watching as Damian's eyes followed his finger.

"Drake."

"Where do you live?" Tim's lips pursed at what he was seeing.

"Gotham."

"What do you get when you multiply eight times nine?"

A basic question, really, Damian would normally scoff at such a question, but this time he was a bit slow on the intake. He chewed it over for longer than it should have. He opened his mouth to answer before shutting it again.

"Seventy-two."

"You probably suffered a mild concussion. I'm going to wrap your head to keep the bleeding down. Would you like some water to drink? I don't have much food to eat unfortunately."

Tim began to clean the gash on Damian's forehead, being as thorough without trying to cause him any more pain than necessary. After he cleaned it satisfactory he began to wrap the kid's head. Tim made sure that it was good and tight. He may not have another chance to take the time to rebandage it.

"That should hold until we get back to Gotham and we can get Alfred or Dr. Thompkins to check it out. In the meantime, you should try to get some sleep; I'll get us get as far from here as I can."

Damian crawled into the car and quickly found the blanket. Curling underneath he fell asleep within seconds. Tim allowed himself a small smile. The kid didn't look quite as terrifying little monster when he was asleep.

Fighting the exhaustion that he was feeling, he climbed into the driver's seat and started putting as much distance between them and the League of Assassins as he could.

* * *

Bruce was having a hard time wrapping his head around this whole situation. What would possess his second youngest to go in the middle of hostile territory, just raise his brother whom he didn't even really like and most definitely didn't like him back. And while he knew that in Tim's head, the solution made sense as a way to bring Bruce back from oblivion, was a simple one, why was this the only option that he acted upon?

It had been a couple days since his son left. Or was it more than that? He was beginning to lose track of the time that he cared for. He most definitely wasn't getting the sleep that Alfred and the others in the family were telling him to get. How could he sleep when the threat of losing another son at his expense was looming over him?

He was on his fifth cup of coffee for the day, when the telephone rang. Fumbling for a little bit to pick the phone from its receiver, he finally held it up to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked, not really caring if he came across as ill-tempered.

After affirming that he was indeed Mr. Wayne, he listened to whatever the person on the other end of the line had to say. His hand gripped the phone tighter until the call was ended. Letting out a yell, he threw it across the room.

Footsteps came running from upstairs and down the hall. Soon the kitchen was filled with his butler and his two adopted sons, as they insisted on staying at the manor until the matter was resolved, wondering what had made a noise.

"What did the phone do to you?" Dick asked, picking up the pieces.

"They found one of my private jets in the Middle East. Apparently it's been sitting in the terminal for a bit."

"That's good right? Tim should be that much closer to coming home, right?" Dick asked trying to maintain the optimism that he was known for.

"Someone blew it up. They're just putting out the fire now. All that will be left in a few minutes is an empty husk." Bruce stared down at his hands. They were clenched as fists.

"What does that mean for Tim, and Dami?" Dick asked sitting next to Bruce.

Bruce looked to his eldest with a lost expression on his face. An expression that didn't look right within the hard lines of his face. an expression that really didn't belong on the Batman's face.

"That means that Talia knows what Tim is doing and is going to do anything to stop him. And that Tim doesn't have any means to get back to Gotham even if he managed to get in and out with Damian successfully."

"But Tim's a resourceful kid. He'll manage to find a way back. I know he will," Dick said, masking the worry with an upbeat thought.

Bruce didn't say anything. Neither did Jason or Alfred. There was nothing to say. Either Tim managed to find his way back home with Damian in tow, or they would have to bury another brother.

* * *

Damian was confused. And yet not. He understood just what the hell happened to him. That wasn't difficult to figure out. Drake had dug up his bead body, assumedly without any of the other members of the 'family' knowing, and went over an ocean to dump his stinking corpse into the Lazarus Pit behind his mother's back, all without getting killed. That wasn't the part that he was confused on.

He was confused as to why it was Drake.

Drake had never liked him. Drake had made this painfully clear through the many times that they had fought one another. He even put Damian on his damn hit list. So why would he be the one to bring him back form the dead? Damian thought that Drake would be in some sort of enjoyment at the thought, and take back the Robin mantle.

But yet here Drake was, driving a car after saving his ass from the assassins. That was another thing that puzzled him. Why had he froze? He was Damian Wayne. Trained since birth in the art of taking a man's life, he did not crack under pressure, and yet he froze.

This was why he awoke, but he didn't change his breathing pattern, he didn't want to alert Drake to his alertness. His mind was racing and he was a little chilled. The blanket he was under had slipped off sometime while he was sleeping.

He just couldn't come up with any reason why Drake would bring him back from oblivion. Drake always had a reason, but what could it be this time?

The blanket that had slipped was pulled back up to his chin.

"Go back to sleep Damian," Drake said.

"How-?" Damian began, his eyes popping open.

"I could hear the cogs in your head churning. It would be best if you didn't overwork your brain too much, you'll need it later." Drake gave a small chuckle, but never took his eyes from the road. "Now sleep. I'll wake you when we stop."

Damian was tired. But he didn't want Drake to think that he was obeying his command. He was doing this of his own will.

"Not listenin' to you," he whispered as he fell asleep again.

* * *

**A/N: What did you guys think? Leave me reviews, I do enjoy them quite a bit. Maybe next time, I'll be able to say something really clever down here. **


	6. Chapter 5

_Who am I You'd even say my name_  
_Within the same the same breath as grace_  
_You cross every bridge I have burned_  
_You reach for me when it's undeserved_

_~MercyMe_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Tim needed to be careful. Since their less than graceful exit, he'd been on the lookout for Talia's men since they began running. And he was exhausted. He'd been up for, oh god, he'd lost track of how many hours he'd been up by now. He had either lost or stopped counting when he had reached thirty hours. How long ago had that been?

He really needed to stop and get some sleep. Not that would be any easier now that the sun was up in the sky. A car would look suspicious in the middle of the desert during the day.

Tim came to the conclusion that he would find a motel when they got in the city somewhere and would sleep for a few hours before heading back home. He checked the GPS on his phone to find where the nearest town was. He only had a few more miles to go before they could stop.

Somehow they managed to make it to the town and the motel. There was only one instance where Tim began nodding off and drifted into the other lane. He woke in time by the honking of the oncoming traffic to swerve out danger. Damian had immediately woken up and offered his services to drive. Tim shot him down. Being Robin and riding around on the Redbird was one thing, but in another foreign country and underage wasn't going to end well.

Tim finally pulled into a motel. He got out of the car and turned to face Damian. The boy was already starting to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"Stay in the car. I'll handle this."

"Tt. You can barely stay awake," Damian protested.

"And you were just raised from the dead with hordes of assassins scouring the earth to find you. It may be best if you stay in the car and not attract attention to yourself. Stay in the car." And like that Tim left Damian. He half expected Damian to begin to follow him anyway. It wouldn't be out of character for him to do something like that.

He was a little surprised when Damian didn't get out of the car and follow him.

A short while later with a room key in hand, Tim went to gather Damian and the rest of their measly possessions. Damian was half in and out of consciousness. Tim felt a twinge of regret for disturbing him; he looked like a normal eleven year old when he was asleep. Not the demon child from hell.

"Hey Damian. I got a room. Do you want sleep on an actual bed instead of that car seat for a little bit?" He reached into the back seat and grabbed the satchel and threw it over his shoulder.

"It would not matter. It is still not my bed Drake." He climbed out of the car and followed Tim anyway.

Together they entered the room. The curtains were shut tightly and they made no move to open them. They didn't want the sun to shine in and people who may be looking for them to peek through. That and they were just too lazy to do anything accept drop their stuff on the ground and fall on the bed asleep. And that's precisely what Tim did.

His head didn't even hit the pillow.

* * *

It would be a lie to say he hadn't noticed the increased activity around his compound. But in true al Ghul fashion he maintained his focus on his task. His plans could not afford a distraction. But yet his interest was piqued. What could be of such interest that nearly everyone in this damn compound had to be running around?

He waved over one of his guards. The guard obeyed without any qualms.

"What is the commotion about outside?" Ra's asked looking up from his papers.

"I'm not quite entirely sure, sir. There have not been anyone to come in and inform me of any proceedings that would require this many men to be in motion. If you require answers, I will go a get some," he offered.

Ra's nodded. All thoughts to his planning were gone now. Whatever was going on, it was not under his orders. It must have been Talia's orders that they were following. He never regretted giving her own force of assassins, but there were times where he wondered just what she managed to do with them.

The man came back inside and stood at attention for a moment before reporting what he had found out.

"I was unable to retrieve any information that would be of use to why they are in motion. My apologies sir."

Ra's thought for a moment. He turned away from the table holding his plans and looked at the man.

"What did you hear?" Ra's questioned.

This was understood clearly by any of the assassins holding a higher standing within Ra's organization. They were trained to observe all things to best obtain their targets. The smallest thing could be the thing they used to bring down their target.

"Something's happened that has greatly upset your daughter. She has all of her units in motion. Extra patrols were established then suddenly recalled. All of this was done without informing you and it's clear that your daughter doesn't want you to know just what it is."

This puzzled Ra's. Talia had cut off her emotions mostly after Heretic murdered her son. If he didn't know any better, he would have to guess that the recent uptake in activities would have something to do with that. This needed to be further pondered. Perhaps he would confront her later about it.

Ra's turned back to his work and settled in for a long night of problem-solving ahead of him.

* * *

Damian was watching as Drake slept. He attempted to wake him once, but the idiot had simply rolled over and continued to snore. That and the buffoon drooled. Drake was nearly an adult and drooled like a baby.

He'd woken up a few hours previous. There was nothing to do in the motel room. The television only possessed basic cable, the furniture was already on its way out the door, even the toilet paper was too thin to clog the pipes. So in the end he started rooting around in Drake's things.

The imbicile was ill-prepared. Within the sack he carried there were a couple shirts, a spare pair of pants, a bag of dirt, and a cell phone. Most he understood why Drake would bring, but what the hell was with the bag of dirt? He resolved to ask once Drake woke.

Damian flopped on a chair and turned on the TV again to try and pass the boredom. Luckily, the measly cable package had a twenty-four hour news station. It was better to learn about what had been going on in the world while he was dead, then the soap operas that ran during the day.

Despite finding the anchor's voice irritating, the information provided was acceptable. Based upon the date given by the anchor and the date of his death, he had been dead for a few weeks. This gave another question. Why had the moron waited this long? If he had planned on doing this, wouldn't the best results be when he was newly dead? Yet another question to add to the pile to interrogate Drake when he woke up.

He was zoning out most of the newscast when a familiar name caught his attention. Damian tuned in for a moment before attempting to wake Drake.

"Drake, wake up." Drake gave a snort. "Drake, I demand that you wake up and pay attention to this."

There was no response.

"Alright then, I'm going to enjoy this more than you." Damian grabbed the arm under Drake's injured shoulder and gave it a twist.

"OW! Goddammit! What the hell, Damian!?" Drake awoke yelling.

"You must turn your attention to the television."

Drake muttered to himself and rubbed his shoulder, but looked to the television anyways. He read the words scrolling along the bottom of the screen before looking up to watch the picture provided by the helicopter in the area. His eyes widened in recognition and flopped back down on the bed.

"Well, damn," he muttered.

"I'm going to make an accurate guess and assume that that jet was our way of getting back to Gotham." Damian smirked. "Didn't your self-centered mind think of any possible backup plans?"

Drake rolled of the bed and began to pace across the worn carpeting. His hands were in constant motion, behind his back, on his face, crossed in front of each other. Damian was beginning to get dizzy from the pendulum motion of it all. Worse Drake kept muttering to himself.

"I should have realized that Talia would have had eyes on the plane since we landed. Gah, stupid. Especially since our little escapade in her pit wasn't all as secretive as I would have liked. She probably has already mobilized her forces across the world looking for us. How to get back to Gotham now without attracting any attention from assassins all looking to kill you? Yeah, that'll be easy."

And he continued to mutter to himself. It was irritating Damian to no end.

"Would you shut up already? Do you have a plan to get us back to Gotham or not?" Damian eventually yelled.

Drake paused in his useless muttering and looked at Damian.

"Did you go through my stuff when I was sleeping?" He asked.

Seeing as Damian was still holding onto the bag of dirt, he made no reservations of denying it.

"Yes. It was quite boring when you were busy drooling on yourself like a brat. Why would you carry a bag of dirt with you? It holds nothing of importance to this mission of yours," Damian said tossing it back to him.

Drake caught the bag with ease and cradled it. _Cradled_ it. Sentimental fool. He looked at the bag and smiled. Then he tossed it back at Damian.

"It's yours."

"Tt. What would I have the need of a bag of dirt for?" Damian held out the dirt away from him.

"That was my handful of dirt that I was supposed to throw on your grave." He gave a sad smile and sat down on the chair Damian had been sitting in earlier and rubbed his shoulder. "Thanks for aggravating my shoulder."

Damian looked at the bag in new light. Drake had kept the bag of dirt that he was supposed to throw on his grave?

"Why?" Damian asked. His tone was much softer than what he normally used with Drake.

"I couldn't let it go. I don't know, maybe if I let it go, that would have meant that I would have had to let you go as well."

_Had to let you go as well._ Those words echoed within Damian's skull for a while. What did that mean coming from Drake? He knew perfectly well that it was something that Grayson would say, followed by and I love you and a hug. Damian held back his shudder. He never understood the ways Grayson expressed his love towards other humans.

"If that's all you wanted to know, then I think that we should get going on our way. We can't afford to stay in one place too long. Not with assassins on our tails. If you need to use the bathroom, I would do it now. Oh! And before I forget, I realize that these will be too large for you, but, would you like to get out of that suit and into some jeans and a t-shirt? I have a spare."

Drake pulled out a t-shirt and jeans shoved them in Damian's arms, before turning him around and giving a light push to the bathroom. Damian was in such a state of shock that he didn't do anything. Drake was being nice to him.

_Drake_ was being _nice_ to him.

Finishing what he needed to do in the bathroom, he came out with a less than enthusiastic scowl on his face. The jeans were large, but a belt kept them securely on his hips, and the bottoms dragged a little on the ground, but they were Drake's pants and he could care less.

"Really? This is the shirt you gave me?" Damian said, foot tapping. The sleeves themselves almost came down to his elbows.

Drake looked up from gathering what little stuff he had and gave a small laugh.

"I honestly thought that it was just a black tee. Didn't mean for it to end up like that."

The bright blue Nightwing symbol was across Damian's chest.

"Do you have anything less humiliating?" Damian asked folding his arms across the symbol.

"Not unless you want to be wearing dried blood." Drake threw the satchel over his shoulder. The smirk was still on his face.

Damian pondered for a moment. Wearing someone else's dried blood would be less embarrassing, but that would draw unnecessary attention to themselves, and trying to slip out of a country back to another was something that dried blood would bring attention to. Whereas a fan boy's too large t-shirt wouldn't make as much noise in a crowd.

"This will have to suffice for now. But if one word of this leaks out to Grayson, I will personally end your life, no matter what the consequences," Damian growled.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think I got that as a present from Dick one year." Drake laughed as he exited the room and loaded the car with his single bag.

Damian grumbled, but followed Drake, shutting the door behind him as he went.

* * *

With one final kick, the bag detached from the hook and was sent sliding across the floor. She breathed heavily, hair escaping from the clasp in the back. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and walked to where her water was. She sat on the bench and stared at the television. She normally didn't have it on at all. It was a distraction to her normal routine, and she could afford no distractions.

But today she needed it to ease her running mind.

_"-it is unclear whether anyone was in the plane at the time the bomb went off, or who the intended target was,"_ the reporter said._ "It is known that the jet was privately owned by Wayne Enterprises in Gotham, but whether or not the Wayne family was the intended target still remains unclear."_

Talia flipped off the TV.

That wasn't exactly what she wanted to happen. Sabotage would have been acceptable. Tampering with the mechanics of the plane so when they were halfway across the ocean, they would crash and none would be the wiser as to the sabotage. And now since the boys mode of transportation was destroyed and on the international news, there was a high likelihood that her father would get involved.

And that was something that she could do without.

* * *

**A/N: Can I just say I love how people are trying to figure out how Tim dies. I'm glad that you all are enjoying this story. But still give me reviews. It makes me smile, and heaven knows I need a little of that with college assignments. **


	7. Chapter 6

_Everyday I get a little closer _  
_ And everything I'm made off starts to melt away _  
_ I see the signs but I can't quite make the words out _  
_ All I want is to be near you but I push you away_

_~ Thousand Foot Krutch_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Damian didn't understand just how Drake managed to secure passage on a ship without getting spotted by his mother. Was it possible that he had underestimated Drake again? That was something that he would never do again if he at all had any power. But here he stood, sunglasses perched on his face, and baseball cap pulled low to cover the white bandage. His fingers slid up underneath the bandage and scratched at the white hairs that had appeared while he was sleeping.

The white greatly distressed him. It reminded him of Todd, and that just wouldn't do. The moment he found hair dye, the white was going away. Or he was going to rip it out of his skull. He was Damian Wayne and there was no way he could afford to be affiliated with that, that criminal.

"Everything's settled, we just need to get into one of those crates," Drake said returning to the hiding spot that he had left Damian in.

"Crates?" Damian looked at Tim incredulously. "You paid a man to smuggle us to the United States?"

"Yep."

That was all Drake said about it. Drake simply picked up that pack that he had and walked away from Damian into the crate that he had gestured to. Not for the first time since he'd known Drake, he wondered just how far Drake would go to achieve what he wants.

Obviously very far, if he was willing to risk his life to raise Damian from the dead.

Damian followed Drake into the crate and sat as far from Drake as he possibly could. They waited in silence for the crate to be loaded on the ship.

When the crate was finally secured and hoisted into the air, the occupants inside were dislodged from their sitting positions and thrown into each other. Damian was thrown into Drake right into the older boy's wounded shoulder, and Drake gave a small cry of pain. But he held onto the younger boy, protecting his head.

After the crate was settled and secured, Damian gave Drake a shove, not minding the fact his palm dug into the wound on Drake's shoulder, and scrambled to the other end of the crate. This new Drake scared him, if he was to be honest with himself, but he wouldn't allow himself to be.

"You okay?"

Damian merely shrugged off Drake's concern. Probably it was only for appearances. The moment that they got back to Gotham, he would go back to being the whiney, undeserving brat that would hate him. Then possibly they could go on with their lives of ignoring one another's existence.

Damian curled around himself. Being stuck in a plane with Drake for the few hours while they flew back to Gotham would have been bad enough. But now he had to suffer through a few days ride in a cargo crate that was probably meant for smuggling victims of a sex trafficking ring. That was a torture in itself. Drake would probably try to talk him death again about how he is an unworthy little brat.

And so he waited.

And waited.

Drake kept his pathetic mouth shut save for a few pained groans as he tried to move his shoulder around. The silence was around for a few hours before Drake finally looked at his watch and walked away. Damian simply watched as the boy knocked a few times on the door.

The door was opened and a basket was shoved into Drake's hand. The boy muttered a thank you and the door was slammed back shut. Drake moved back to the spot where Damian sat and set the basket down. Then he left it.

"What's that?" Damian asked.

"Food. We have to make it last the whole ride though, so I would eat sparingly," Drake said.

Damian walked over and sure enough, a half a loaf of bread was sitting there with a jar of peanut butter and a jug of water. He scoffed at the food.

"You would think that because they're smuggling us, they would give us something more substantial."

"I didn't tell them."

"What? You realize if you had told them, we could be in the captain's cabin right now?" Damian could feel his temperature rising. Did this idiot even think before arranging this passage?

"No, if I had told them, we would be in the brig and Bruce would be receiving a ransom demand. These are smugglers who do this for a profit. They wouldn't pass up an opportunity to earn a large amount of cash. Consider yourself lucky I managed to convince them to give us that food."

Damian thought about Drake's logic for a moment. Yes, that would probably be what happened. But one thing remained.

"What did you tell them?"

"I spun a story, something about being refugees and needing to get to the states without detection. I'm not sure that they bought it, but they sure believed the money I offered."

Damian sat in quiet. He wasn't hungry. He simply stared at the basket and waited for exhaustion to take him, no matter how long it would take.

"If you aren't going to eat now, I suggest sleep. Time will go by faster if you're asleep."

Damian ignored what Drake said and continued to stare at the basket, allowing his thoughts to take control. There were a lot of them and there didn't seem to be an end to them any time soon. Well, he had a couple of days to figure them out stuck in this crate.

* * *

The throwing disk was thrown sharp and true, cutting the jugular of the attendant that dared open her mouth. Her mouth flopped open before her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell to the ground dead.

"How could you let them escape the country? This is UNACCEPTABLE!" Talia screamed.

"Our apologies your highness. The Drake kid has resources that we weren't expecting." The voice didn't waver to the sound, but the heart was beating a little faster than usual.

Talia stood straight, trying to recompose herself. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them again, her stoic exterior was reestablished. She had an image to maintain, and a job to be done.

"Is there a problem, daughter?"

Talia's blood ran cold for a moment, calm forgotten. By the time she turned around to see her father standing there, once again the emotionless face was in place.

"Why would you think that a problem would be?" She asked, keeping her voice level.

"You may be able to lie to yourself, but I am your father. And this is my organization, there isn't much that goes on around here that I am not aware of. It takes much for you to lose control like that, even for an instant. Does this have to do with Damian's death?" Ra's said looking into his daughters eyes for the truth.

"No."

"I see. Well, I'll let you attend to your business then." Ra's turned to leave, personal guards obediently at his side.

Talia let a small sigh.

"Next time though, I would advise using simpler means of keeping the Detective's children in the country than blowing up the jet. It would draw less attention." And like that he was gone.

Talia closed her eyes. So he knew. She wasn't surprised. She turned to another one of her attendants.

"Ready a scout group. Find how they got out of the country."

"Yes, Princess."

* * *

Tim was watching Damian. Like he always had. Like he watched all of them. He could tell that the boy had questions on his mind, but wouldn't voice them. Damian would grip onto a thought and let that thought consume him until there was nothing else that mattered. He was very much like Bruce in that way.

They were on the sixth hour on the boat when Tim thought that he should offer a little push.

"Do you want to talk about it?" It was a line that Dick had pulled on him many a time.

"Tt. No. I have no need to discuss such trivial matters with your lower intelligence."

Alright. Tim sat back against the cold metal of the crate and rested his head against the wall. If he could, he would try to fall asleep. But he had a nagging feeling. Something kept telling him to try and get the kid to talk about just what he was feeling inside. To see what questions he wanted answered. He tried again.

"Whenever you want to get some answers to those questions, then I will be right here, and I will answer them the best that I can."

Tim took the lack of response as a good thing.

* * *

Dick was just getting a headache from simply watching Bruce. He couldn't imagine the migraine that Bruce was getting. Being on the phone for hours straight answering questions about the plane and why it was there and what could possibly be the motive for it exploding. International incidents were always a pain to deal with. Dick dug the heels of his hands into his temple.

"Headache?"

"Yeah. Just watching Bruce act through all of these phone calls is giving me one. I can't imagine how bad his would be." Dick answered Jason without looking up.

"Naw, Brucie's tough. Probably doesn't even drop a sweat at lying at these things anymore."

Dick shook his head. Lying about one's activities is one thing, but lying about something that he had no control over and having no idea where your children are is another thing. A hand clapped onto his shoulder. Dick looked up to his younger brother. There was a look that he had never seen Jason's face before.

"What are you doing here Jason?" Dick asked suddenly.

A hurt look spread across Jason's face for a moment, before a scowl appeared and his hand was removed from Dick's shoulder.

"Look, _Dickie_, what-"

Dick quickly backtracked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out that way. I was just wondering why you are still here. I thought that you would have left a while ago to beat up people that were pissing you off. I didn't think that you really cared about this family." Dick was praying that that rewording was enough to keep Jason from running again.

Jason narrowed his eyes at Dick before sitting on a stool that was next to Dick's on the bar. He reached across the countertop and grabbed one of the fruit that was sitting in a bowl. He rolled it around in his hands while he thought of how to answer the question.

"I'm not quite sure. I thought since Damian's death that I would go back to the shadows, the lost son, so to say. But you had me come to the funeral. I made a promise of sorts to Damian as we lowered him to the ground. I wasn't sure how well that it would work, but I wanted to be a part of the family, I guess. I think I completely failed." Jason didn't look up from his fruit.

Dick couldn't stop his heart from going to his brother. He slung an arm over Jason's shoulders.

"No one's perfect. I'm not perfect, no matter what you seem to think. They don't want perfect, they just want you, despite what they protest. I think that when they get back that we should do something, the four of us, out of costume. Maybe go to a baseball game or something."

Jason looked finally to his older brother.

"You're so sure that both of them are going to get back?" He asked.

"Yes." _I have too._

They relapsed into silence. The only sound was Bruce's talking through the phone to whichever international organization he was talking to now. Finally he finished the conversation and walked into the kitchen where the boys sat. Taking from their lead, he sat on another bar stool.

"What news do you have for us?" Dick asked finally.

"There were no signs that the plane was occupied when it blew. Which is a good thing, we don't need any more war casualties in this fight, but in other news, I had to tell them just why my jet was there in the first place." Bruce rubbed his index finger and his thumb over his eyes. A sign he was getting or already had a headache.

"What did you say?"

"Whatever came to mind. I told them that it was Damian's plane and he was off doing his education in the desert somewhere. And before you say anything, I told them that he would be out of contact for a while, and that everything was fine. We don't need more people searching for my sons."

Bruce's blue eyes were tired. Reflecting just what they were all feeling. It was hard to get sleep when family was in danger. Dick guessed that he looked very much the same way. He hadn't got much sleep since this mess began, and probably wouldn't until Tim was safe back home, with Damian preferably.

"Bruce you should get some sleep," Dick said.

"I'll sleep when my boys get back home." Bruce got up and marched out of the room. Dick turned to Jason.

"Do you think he realized just what he said?" Jason asked.

"If he did, he's not going to do anything about it. What matters is the end result." Dick rubbed his forehead again.

"You should sleep too. You look like shit." Jason said giving Dick a small shove.

"Thanks."

Jason nodded and walked out of the kitchen. Dick sat for a little moment longer. Yeah, sleep would do him some good. Slowly he made his way upstairs to where his room was. Along the way, he passed by Timmy's room. The door was opened just a crack.

Dick walked into the room. Vaguely he could hear Tim's voice in the back of his head telling him to get out. He smiled a little at the thought. The room was still the same that Dick had remembered. There was not a speck of dust around, whether it was from Alfred or Tim, he never was sure. Dick sat down on Tim's bed. The only thing that wasn't in perfect order.

He leaned back and rested his head on the pillow. There was a crinkling sound underneath his head. He reached under the pillow and pulled out a folded piece of paper. And it was addressed to him. Curious, he opened it and began reading.

* * *

Tim was watching Damian sleep. Only a few more days, then he would be able to drop Damian off and get on with his life.

Eventually, he flipped off the flashlight and rolled over and tried to fall asleep. Tim knew that the chances of him actually falling asleep were slim. He was in the middle of a smugglers ship and that there were assassins from all over the world were looking for him and the brat. So chances for sleep were slim, but hell, he was going to try.

He could feel as he was falling to sleep when a small voice broke the darkness.

"Why'd you do it?"

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for all the support you've been giving. And more brotherly bonding, yay! As always, Review! See you next time!**


	8. Chapter 7

_His welfare is of my concern_  
_No burden is he to bear_  
_We'll get there_  
_For I know_  
_He would not encumber me_  
_He ain't heavy, he's my brother_

_~The Hollies_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"Why'd you do it?"

Tim froze, not that anyone could see it in the dark. He didn't want to ever answer that question. Not because he didn't want to share, but because he didn't really know why he did it. At the time he thought that he knew why he was doing this. But know he was unsure why. Nothing had changed between them. He still hated the kid. The kid had still attempted to kill him multiple times. And yet he risked his life to bring Damian's back.

He could hear the annoyed finger tapping of Damian from across the bunker. He groaned and rolled over; reaching out to turn on the flashlight that he had just turned off.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked, in attempts to delay for a moment longer while he came up with a suitable lie.

"Don't pull that bullshit. You know exactly what I'm asking. Your intellect isn't as diminished that you don't know what I'm talking about." Damian folded his arms across his chest and glared at Tim.

Tim took a deep breath and prepared himself for an onslaught.

"I'm not sure why I did it."

"Pardon me?" Damian's eyebrows rose. That apparently wasn't the answer that he thought he was going to get.

"At the time I thought that I was doing something for Bruce, but now I'm not so sure."

Tim could see that Damian was very confused at this point. Unfortunately Tim wasn't sure just how to explain this whole situation to Damian without there be any violence. He wasn't even sure if he could explain it to himself, and he was the one who came up with this crazy plan. There was an awkward silence between the two.

"You mentioned my father. Did he have you do this?"

Tim let out a snort. A faint smile appeared on the grim face.

"Right. Because Bruce would have one of his sidekicks go and do a mission that would probably kill them. No kid, it's all me. If Bruce was going to have someone do this, he would have done it himself. And that would have been a whole lot messier."

"Then why was it you? You don't like me. You hate me."

Another faint smile.

"I don't like you, yes, but I don't hate you. I never wished you dead. I just wanted for you to give me the same type of respect that you give the others."

Damian looked away from Tim.

"I don't expect anything to change between us now that you're back. You can go right back to hating me after we get back to Gotham and being the most loved."

"I'm not."

"What?" Now it was Tim's turn to be confused. What was he talking about now?

"I'm not the most loved. My mother killed me because she couldn't accept who've I become. Father can't seem to get past the fact I was raised by assassins. Todd just doesn't care about anyone, and Grayson tries, but at times I feel as if I come short of what he wants as a brother."

"Oh? And who do you think would be the perfect model for Dick's brother?"

"You."

Tim froze again. Damian was jealous of him? And through all of this time, Tim thought that Damian simply hated his guts for intruding into a family that he wasn't born into. But Damian was wrong.

"I'm not the perfect model. Hell, I'm probably the worst example of a brother there is."

"It matters not to Grayson. He whines about your prolonged absences and frets over you like a mother hen. You just don't realize. The way his face lights up when you come back safe sickens me." Damian hugged his knees to his chest.

Tim fought the urge to cry, or laugh.

"You should try to look from the other side. Dick's face lights up with any opportunity to do anything. The same look is on his face when you manage not to stab me whenever we're in the same room."

"Tt. Whatever."

"You should call Dick by his first name once. And watch how his face lights up. That would probably make his year, of not his whole life."

It was Damian's turn to snort. The idea of using a first name making someone's entire life was ludicrous.

"You should get some sleep kid. There's been enough of the sentimental crap between the two of us to last a lifetime. Just remember what I said, alright?" And like that Tim flipped off the flashlight and lay down on his back. His shoulder protested greatly at the motion, but Tim did nothing for it.

He heard as the kid was shuffling around, but Tim closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift to sleep.

* * *

Dick was running through the house like his body was on fire. He looked around wildly for anyone. He avoided where Bruce would be brooding, there was no reason to add something new to his plate. Dick wanted to find Jason, but that man was as slippery as some of the criminals that they chased at night. Probably came from the times he was the criminal, er, anti-hero.

"Master Dick, I would be careful running around the manor in such a way. This is the way that people unintentionally injure themselves." Alfred took a close look at Dick's face. "Whatever is the matter Master Dick?"

"Tim…Tim, he…he," Dick gasped out trying to formulate actual words. His hands rested on his knees as he tried to force the words out of his mouth while breathing at the same time.

"Take a moment to breathe Master Dick. Whatever it is, I'm sure that it could wait until air is back in your lungs." He paused a moment to allow Dick to catch his breath. "Now what was it that needed to be shared at this very moment?"

"Tim's not coming back."

"Whatever do you mean? Of course Master Tim is coming back." Alfred reached out and rested a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"No, he's not. See?" Dick shoved the letter he was holding in his hand into Alfred's.

Alfred allowed an eyebrow to rise before he looked down at the letter in his hand. He read the letter as quickly as he could before looking up to Dick with a panicked look on his face.

"Where exactly did you find this?" He asked.

"It was in Tim's room. He knew that I would go in there I suppose." Dick tried to remain calm, but there was no way to contain everything.

"Where exactly in Tim's room?"

"Under his pillow."

Alfred pursed his lips and brought his fingers to his chin. He thought for a moment before he opened his mouth once again.

"Don't you worry about this piece of paper Master Dick-" Alfred began.

"Why not?" Dick interrupted.

Alfred only took a breath before answering. Years of taking care of Dick helped in moments like these, where the young man's impatience took control of the rest of him, especially his mouth.

"I was there when the young Master Tim wrote it. It was an exercise to help him. He wanted to throw it out once it was over, but I told him to keep it. As a reminder at a future date."

"So he's not going to leave us?" Dick was having a difficult time wrapping his head around it. Just an exercise?

"Master Dick, you are quite tired. You've been awake for nearly two days straight. The stress of this situation is beginning to affect your motor systems. Please, sir, go and get some sleep."

Dick nodded and trod away to find his room or a sofa where he could lay down and find some sleep. He flopped on his bed face first before rolling over and began to snore. He didn't know that Alfred had been lying.

* * *

Damian was waiting. For what he didn't exactly know. Something along the lines of, how did they put it, gotcha! But there didn't seem to be any sort of that coming. Drake had simply rolled over and went to sleep. Like the whole incident wasn't life changing at all. Idiot.

But he still didn't really know why Drake did the deed.

Why was it difficult to figure out why Drake did it? It wasn't like he was the most brilliant person in the world. Damian could easily list off twelve people that were more intelligent than Drake. There were probably more out there, but he could care less about them.

Damian rested his head on his arm and stared up into the darkness. He had been positive that Drake hated his guts, but it seems that he doesn't. Drake doesn't like him, but that had always been evident.

But why?

Drake had said that he didn't know why he'd done it. On some level Damian believed him. The look on his face was very clear that he wasn't sure why he'd done it. But there was something else. Something that Drake wasn't telling him. And it wasn't like he could hack into a computer this time and figure it out.

He added all the facts up in his head. One, his mother had him killed before and now was sending assassins after him to make sure that the job is done. Two, Drake was the one to raise him from the dead. Three, no one from the rest of the 'family' had told Drake to do such a thing; it was likely that they didn't even know about it. Four, Drake wasn't sure why he did it. But there was something inside of him that knew why, even if he was hiding it from himself.

Damian gave a small groan. All of this thinking was giving him a headache. He supposed that it was the blow to his head. He could figure it out later. His head needed to rest for a little bit.

* * *

The smoke was thick in the cabin. He didn't understand why they didn't go outside to smoke, or at least open a window. It was very distracting for him. But then again he seemed like he was the only non-smoker on the entire ship. Currently he was trying to watch the TV screen, and the smoke was getting in the way.

"Would you be so kind as to move the smoking outside? I'm trying to watch the TV," he protested.

His cabin mate came over and clapped him on the back. He had a cigarette between his teeth and smiled with his yellowing teeth.

"What's so interesting that we gotta go outside to smoke one?" His gravelly voice growled in his ear.

"There was something about an explosion, and I can't tell you much else, cause I can't read the screen." He glared up at his cabin mate.

The other man glared back down at him, not moving to do anything.

"Jeez, enough with the sexual tension already. Just open the damn window," grumbled another member of the crew.

Giving up the stare, the crewmate walked over and opened the window. He took a few more drags on the cigarette before flicking it out the window and waving some of the smoke out.

"Happy?"

He didn't make a noise. He was focused on the program. What was on wasn't what he thought it would be. He thought that it would be a warehouse that had some sort of malfunction, or possibly radical terrorists targeting a religious place. It was neither one of those things. It was a jet.

A goddamn jet.

"What the hell? All this hubbub for a jet that exploded?"

He shushed whoever was speaking behind him. He wanted to know what was going on.

_"And while there are no injuries that have been reported, the international authorities are looking into the cause of the explosion and are searching for those involved." _

"International?"

"SHH!" He waved down the person behind him.

_"The head of Wayne Enterprises, declined an interview, but an inside source claims that the passengers that were aboard that jet were the CEO's own children."_

The screen switched from showing the news to show an image of the Wayne family at some charity function. They all stood together, but the two shortest ones were glaring at each other, like they were in the middle of an argument about something. Mr. Wayne was the only one actually looking at the camera, one of his other sons was trying to get in between the two glaring at each other, and the other one was staring someplace off screen distancing himself from the rest of the family.

"Hey! That one looks like the guy who paid passage," someone shouted from the back of the room.

"Shut _UP_, Geoff! You can't even see the screen through the smoke! Get outta here!" Someone else yelled.

There was grumbling as Geoff made his way out of the lounge and down below decks.

"Damn drunkard thought that we were escorting billionaire's kids across the ocean. I wish we were. Probably they would have paid better." There was a rumbling laugh echoing throughout the lounge.

But there was a seed that was planted in his mind. Could it possibly be that they were transporting a billionaire's children? But more importantly, could this be something that his _employers_ would be interested in?

He stood and walked out of the still smoky room to the fresh air on the deck. The air cleared his head. He wouldn't be able to make any calls yet until they got on land anyways, so he had time to figure it all out anyway.

* * *

They were so close. So, so close. He could practically reach his hand out and touch the safety of the doorknob. But just as he was about to close his hand around the cold metal, he heard screaming behind him. He turned to see his little brother being impaled by a sharp sword. He went to scream out his name but no words came out of his mouth. He fell to his knees at the sight. Tears blurred his vision.

"You failed him. Just like all the others."

He looked up to see the man that he had admired for years scowling down at him. He opened his mouth to say that he had tried, when a sword was stabbed through his body as well.

"NO!" Tim shouted sitting up. Sweat was dripping down his face and down his back. He padded himself down to make sure that it was all just a dream and none of it was really real.

Tim fumbled around looking for his flashlight, and then fumbled a little more when he tried to turn it on. When he finally succeeded he shone the beam of light over to Damian's side of the crate. He held his breath until he saw Damian's chest move up and down with each breath that he took.

His heart was still beating rapidly from the dream. No, nightmare. Slowly he crawled over to the other side of the crate and sat by Damian's head for a moment. He really did look like a regular kid when he was sleeping. His scowl wasn't glued on like it was at waking hours of the day, and while he wasn't smiling, he seemed a bit relaxed.

Acting upon impulse, Tim reached down and pulled Damian into his lap and gave him a hug. He wasn't squeezing as tightly as Dick would, the kid was still asleep, but he just needed to feel him breathing against him. After carrying him around without feeling a pulse and breathing, he needed to be sure.

The peace only lasted for a moment before Damian started to stir.

"What are you doing?" Mumbled Damian.

"Shh."

"Unhand me! I do not desire to be held so!" Damian was becoming more and more alert with each passing moment that Tim held him.

"Suck it up brat. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me little brother."

Damian's attempts to wiggle away ceased. He stared up into Tim's light blue eyes, his own widening.

Tim then realized just what he said. He didn't allow it to show on his face, but he was probably as surprised as Damian was.

"Did you just-?"

"I guess I did. Now sleep."

Tim watched as Damian shifted his face away from Tim's but yet snuggled closer in Tim's arms. Tim allowed a small smile on his face. Maybe things were going to get better after this. They would still be themselves, just maybe with the less of the killing attempts now.

"I know that you're grinning. Get rid of it before I do."

Tim only chuckled and held his brother more securely.

* * *

**A/N: Don't you just love brotherly bonding? I'm so glad that you all are enjoying this story. It means a lot. As always leave a review, cause I love seeing them. **


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight **

Stephanie was pacing in the Batcave. She could hear the whisperings of the others in the cave as they watched her. She didn't focus on them. No, her mind was focused on something else entirely. She was focused on why they didn't decide to do anything and just sat around while their son and brother was marching to his death. How could they just sit around? They loved Tim, why wouldn't they try to stop him from doing something stupid?

She froze when a thought crossed her mind. Quickly she shook that out of the realm of possibilities. They didn't want Tim to die. That wasn't the reason why they didn't do anything. Her brain churned for a few more moments before coming up with her answer.

They wanted Tim to succeed. They wanted him to come back with Damian in tow. They wanted their baby back, as much as Damian would protest it.

Stephanie's pacing resumed. Talia would do anything to stop Tim, she knew. They only had to get to Gotham and they would be relatively safe. Sneaky assassins were always managing to find their way into the city despite the vigilance of the vigilantes. But they would be protected here.

She walked to the corner of the cave that held all of their uniforms. The Red Robin suit still stood there standing tall. Tim's OCD kept the entire locker clean and orderly, despite the fact that he wasn't there often. Even Bruce's locker wasn't as orderly as Tim's.

She would be lying if she said that she didn't worry about him.

She worried a little about everyone. It was a part of the job, a part of being in the family. But there was a special place inside of her that had long been suppressed and she could feel as it tried to break free again.

A hand rested on her shoulder and she jumped a little. She turned to see Jason standing there.

"Whadaya want Jason?" She asked turning back to look at Tim's locker. She blinked tears out of her eyes.

"Listen Blondie, I realize that I might be the black sheep here, and therefore should not be giving advice, but you need to talk about this to someone."

"Who? Bruce is brooding, Dick hasn't gotten any rest hardly since this ordeal began, Barbara is working overtime on the computers to try and find just where on the world Tim might be, and Cass doesn't know about it and neither does anyone else outside of this family. I don't really think that talking is an option for me."

"You could talk to me." He offered.

Steph snorted. "Right, cause you'd listen to a poor girl's woes."

Jason's hand removed itself from her shoulder and Steph expected him to walk away from her to leave her to her own thoughts. Instead he sat in his little locker-cubby and crossed his arms.

"Try me."

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," Steph sighed.

"Why don't you start with that you still have feelings for Tim?"

Steph looked with shock at Jason's face. The biting smirk wasn't there. A softer smile was there instead, a knowing smile. Her heart did a little flip-flopping as she allowed the thought to sink into her brain. Was she still in love with Tim?

"It's a long story."

"I've got nothin' better to do."

* * *

Damian was wrestling with these new ideas in his head. Drake thought of him as a little brother? Even after all of the shit that Damian did to him? For all purposes Drake should hate his guts and not be cuddling with him. He repressed a shudder. Drake was still clutching him like a ragdoll. Damian never realized that Drake was as much of a sentimental fool as Grayson.

_Little brother._

He couldn't shake those two little words. Was he really? Grayson had the qualifications to fall into the brother category, but Drake? There was no affection shared between the two, except for the glomp of a hug that he was ensnared in at the moment.

_Little brother._

What was a brother? Biologically, it was two of the male species that shared DNA from the same mother or father. But was it possible that someone could be brother's without sharing that key piece of genetic material? Grayson seemed to think so. Yet, Grayson seemed to be in love with his cereal too, so his viewpoint was invalid.

Could Drake have come to see him as a brother too? No, that wasn't possible. Drake still didn't like him. Brothers are supposed to love each other and he most certainly didn't love Drake. He had some admiration for going behind enemy lines to raise his sorry butt from the dead, but that was it.

_Little brother._

Finally Damian resolved to ask Drake just what that meant. He jabbed his elbow into Drake's ribs and instantly Drake was awake and pushing himself in front of Damian.

"What the hell?" Drake asked once he saw that there was no danger.

"I demand to know something," Damian retorted standing.

"Well I would like a hot shower." Drake said settling back against the wall. "What is it that you needed to know this moment?"

"What constitutes a person as a brother?"

Drake thought for a moment. "Well, usually they love each other."

"Then by very definition we are not brothers, since I hold no affection for you whatsoever." Damian crossed his arms over his chest.

"You didn't let me finish. I said usually. There are cases where they don't always get along and fight each other over simple things. But that doesn't change the fact that they're brothers."

Damian failed to see the point. He raised an eyebrow to convey this message.

Drake sighed. "Look, it's hard to explain. It's like this, you don't like me, but there are times where you would stick your neck out for me and vice versa despite that. You may not consider that you would do this for me, but I did for you. So consider that next time you want to gut me. The simple fact is that we're brothers, dysfunctional yes, but brothers. So you're stuck with me Demon Spawn, get used to it."

Damian wanted very much to punch Drake for his answer. Because in a way, it made sense.

* * *

The rest of the ride over to the United States went uneventfully. Tim and Damian didn't really speak after that. They didn't need to. Everything that they needed to know was told through their body language and simple gestures. Their brains were busy trying to figure out their own problems. Damian was focused on figuring out why Drake was his brother. Tim needed to figure out how to get the last twelve miles to Wayne Manor without alerting press or undercover operatives to their position.

Above deck one crewman was still wrestling with if he should risk using the satellite phone without the captain's permission. It hadn't been hard to really determine that the two in the shipping crate was really the Wayne boys. One look at them after seeing the news cast was all it took to confirm it.

It was the last day of the voyage. He'd finally decided that he was going to phone his employers. It wasn't a direct line to the head, but the news would get to the right people. He was only an intern, if that was the right word for whatever he was.

Sneaking into the captain's cabin he prepared what he was going to say for the shortest call possibly in his life.

* * *

"We've got a lead Princess." He said running into the room.

Talia only scribbled more words onto the paper that she was writing. Leads could be something or be nothing, it all depended.

"Speak." She didn't look up from her writing.

"A boy matching Drake's description was seen paying for passage to America. There was a younger boy with him as well."

"Where are they set to land?"

"Twelve miles from Gotham. Blüdhaven ports."

A small smile graced her lips. "Ready the unit in Blüdhaven. Let the hunting begin."

* * *

Tim knew that they were getting close to the ports. His cell phone signal had been gaining more bars for the past few hours. When he had enough he made a call and left a couple messages. Local police saying that there were smugglers boarding at their docks with humans inside. Then he called various family voicemails, but Damian couldn't hear what he was saying, Tim had been very careful to keep those conversations hush-hush.

The boat was rocking back and forth a bit more erratically now. Tim guessed that they were nearing the ports and the rocking was the wakes from other ships. They were so close now. Once on shore twelve more miles and everything could be behind them.

"Are you ready for this?" Tim asked. It was the first time that they had really spoken to each other in a while, since the whole brother conversation occurred.

Damian gave his usual non-commental verbal tic. Tim took that as a yes. He didn't know when they were going to be docking in the port, but he felt that it was an appropriate time to at least gather all of the things they had. Which wasn't much.

Throwing a couple shirts in the bag and setting the flashlight on top was all they had to do.

Now it was back to sitting and waiting.

"What do you want to do when you get back to the Manor?" Tim asked, unable to handle the silence for much longer.

Damian snorted. "Evade Grayson's arms. If he catches me, he'll never let go."

A smile twitched on Tim's face. "At least they'll welcome you back. I'm going to be grounded for life."

"You don't even live there anymore."

"Let me rephrase that. They're going to lock me in the cave and never let me out of their sights ever again."

Damian snorted again. "They should've done that years ago."

The jab didn't find its mark. In actuality he was surprised that Damian didn't continue the jab. Was it possible that the kid was softening his attitude towards him? Quickly he brushed it off. There was no way that the kid would really come to care for him.

Tim watched Damian for a little bit. His face was scrunched together like he was trying to think of some answer to something he didn't know. And if there was one thing that Damian prided himself on, other than being the true heir, was his ability to outsmart people.

"What's got your head in knots?"

"None of your business. Leave me alone, or I'll break your face." Damian didn't look up, nor did any muscle change from its position after he finished speaking.

Tim suppressed a smirk. The kid really needed to get more creative with his threats. Using the same threats over and over again without following through lost the threatening aspect of it. Maybe the kid should hang out with Jason to expand that threat library. Tim was sure that _that_ would be a great idea.

Tim checked the time on his phone again, before turning it off and taking the battery out of the back. After a moment he also took out the memory card and slipped it in his back pocket. Tossing the rest of his phone's parts into his bag he rested against the wall behind him and settled for another wait.

* * *

"Is my jet ready?" She asked.

"Yes, princess. The fuel tanks are filled and the pilot's already in the cockpit with the engine's warming up."

"Good. I wish to get there before my son and Drake arrive. My intention is to be there when we apprehend them." Talia walked out of the room leaving behind a bag upon the floor for her attendant to pick up and take out to her plane.

Talia pulled her leather gloves tight against her hand and made a fist, the leather rubbing against itself. Her heels clicked against the tiles on the floor as she made her way out of the hangar to her jet. If all went well, as it should, she should get there in a few hours with time to spare before their ship pulled into the dock.

She climbed onto the plane and settled into her seat. Her bag was dropped gently next to her and the attendant retreated into her quarters.

Talia was left to ponder her thoughts as the plane took off into the air westward.

Could it be possible she had underestimated just how far Mr. Drake would go to please his adopted father? To had she allowed it to happen because Damian was her son and it had pained her to put him through that pain? No, that couldn't be the answer. Damian wasn't her son anymore.

She had declared him an enemy and that was practically the same thing.

She needed to formulate a plan. Separate the two on the run, then dispose of them. The older one first, though he wouldn't be much of a problem with his injury. Then she could focus on all attention to Damian. There was one thing that she had to decide though, would she have him eliminated once again, or could she recondition him back to what she wanted without ever letting her beloved knowing that Drake had succeeded in his quest.

She could get her little boy back.

She ignored that small fluttering in her heart.

* * *

Alfred knocked politely against the oak door. He waited only a few moments out of consideration before he walked into the room.

"Master Bruce?" He asked.

Bruce's head shot up from the desktop, hair cow licked against one side of his head.

"It was Flash," he mumbled.

"Yes, I'm sure it was Master Bruce, but there is something that needs your attention at the moment sir." He held out the letter in his hand.

"What's this, Alfred?"

"Young Master Tim it appears was having a small crisis about his place in his family." Alfred maintained his standing position as Bruce began to read the letter.

His hands shook as he read the letter. Whether it was from the content in the letter for from the lack of sleep and the stress of the situation that they are in, Alfred wasn't sure. But both were affecting the man whom he had come to see as his son in some ways. When he finally finished reading it he looked at Alfred.

"What does this mean?"

"I think that we need to reaffirm young Master Tim's belief of belonging into this family. It's quite possible because now he's a middle child he may be feeling left out of the love," Alfred said loosening up a little.

"How so?" Bruce asked sitting down on his bed.

"When was the last time that the two of you actually did something together that didn't have to with your night work? When was the last time you did something fun with him, with any of your boys?"

Bruce opened his mouth to answer when he realized that he didn't remember the last time he had taken the time to do anything with his boys in a long time. Before this fiasco, the last time they were together was at Damian's funeral, and before that, well he didn't remember. He would take Dick and Jason individually to baseball games when they lived with him, but he couldn't remember if he had done anything with Tim.

"What should I do?"

"Tell him you love him, show him you love him. Never let him go. Don't let any of your sons go."

Bruce stood up and walked over to his butler. For only a moment he rested a hand on Alfred's shoulder, then he surrounded the older man in a large hug. Alfred hesitantly wrapped his arms around Bruce.

"What would I do without you Alfred?" Bruce muttered, mostly to himself.

"I dare say that you would have starved long ago. You are a horrible cook."

For a moment in midst of everything, Bruce let out a small laugh.

* * *

**A/N: I was going to say that Tim was gonna be locked in the closet, but then I actually thought about it. Whoops. And Bruce would totally starve to death, cause he wouldn't be able to cook a thing. And finding relevant quotes are hard. **

**So, leave a review, please. **


	10. Chapter 9

_Help your brother's boat across, and your own will reach the shore. _

_~Hindu Proverb_

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

They arrived a day later than what Tim would have liked, but their feet were back on solid ground at least again. The crew that had taken them across the ocean made sure that their money was going to their bank accounts before doing much more than letting them out of the crate. Once the money was transacted, they were keen on getting the two boys off the boat. Tim and Damian were a few rows of shipping containers away when Damian turned to Tim and opened his mouth.

"Why did we not alert the authorities to their presence in the docks? Are we yet not still crime fighters?"

Tim only held up a hand and counted backwards from five. When he reached the number one, sirens pierced the air and shouts could be heard coming from the boat. Tim turned to look at Damian with a smile on his face.

"Did you really think that I would let them just walk away? Those other containers had young girls that were taken against their wills. Come on now, you must think of me better than that."

Damian grumbled something that Tim couldn't quite catch. He didn't bother in trying to figure out what it was, something else was bothering him.

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

The quicker that they got out of there, the better he would feel. His feet picked up the pace as he searched for the right container. Three rows and four proclaiming's that he was incompetent later he finally found the right one.

As promised, the container had no lockbox covering the lock and the key was buried in the dirt right below. Tim brushed it off and opened the crate. Inside were two motorcycles and extra equipment hanging on the wall.

"How did you manage to get this all in here?" Damian asked walking over to where his utility belt hung from.

"Siblings are wonderful things. Remind me to thank Cass when we see her again."

"So she was in on your plan?" Damian looked at Tim.

Tim snorted. "No, I told you, it was all me. I just requested that she help me out with this one thing and then I would owe her one down the road." He tossed over a sack to Damian.

Tim didn't really pay much attention to what Damian did with the bag after he gave it to him. It was just a pair of clothes that were actually his size and a pair of tennis shoes instead of the fancy dress shoes that he had been wearing since his funeral. Tim didn't really care if Damian changed at all. It was just a quick ride over to Gotham and the rest of their lives could go on like it had before. Tim grabbed a couple of helmets and held one out for Damian to grab.

"Let's get out of here," Tim muttered. If only to himself. That feeling of being watched was starting to grate on his nerves.

"Good, you nervous tic of muttering to yourself had been annoying."

"I haven't been muttering to myself," Tim protested, sliding a helmet down around his head.

"You wouldn't notice it of course. But it is as annoying as Grayson's singing in the shower. But that wouldn't be as bad as it is if the man knew how to hold a tune."

Tim ignored Damian's comment and started the engine of the motorcycle. He wasn't going to reply to that, even though Dick's singing in the shower wasn't the greatest. He revved the engine and waited for Damian to climb onto the bike that was there for him.

Damian started his engine and inched slowly towards the door. Tim rolled his eyes at his little brother's impatience. He wanted to get home just as badly. Put this whole nightmare behind him and forget that this ever happened. Not that that would ever really be possible, but at least he could try.

Tim let go of the brake and sped out of there with Damian hot on his heels. Tim weaved his way through the shipping containers careful not to lose sight of Damian behind him in the side mirrors.

The kid looked relaxed almost. The wind was whipping through his clothes and through his hair if he hadn't the helmet on. Tim guessed that it gave Damian a sense of control about the situation. Something that he could be in charge of and know exactly how it would come out in the end.

But he was still on edge. Something wasn't right.

He just hoped that they would both safe within the borders of the Manor before he found out just why he was feeling so.

* * *

She lowered the binoculars. She climbed down from her vantage point and walked over to the car that was waiting for her. She climbed into the back seat and turned to the driver.

"Go on the interstate northbound. We'll be able to cut them off before they reach Gotham City limits."

"Yes, Princess." The gas pedal was pressed down to the floor of the vehicle and the car began its progress to the highway.

Talia tapped her nails upon the side of the car. She was lost in thought. Intercepting Drake and Damian wouldn't be difficult. They would need to take back roads to avoid any police or any public eye that may detain them. An adolescent boy driving a motorcycle would raise red flags with a lot people. They sacrificed speed for stealth.

One thing still bothered her. Her son, she caught herself referring to Damian more and more as such recently, hated the older boy. Yet he continued to follow and listen to what Drake would tell him to do, with some of his usual irritability, but still obeyed. It was out of character for him. Unless.

Unless he had come to respect Drake for what he'd done. Her heart paused for a moment. Was it possible that Damian could be growing affection for his older brother? If this was the case, a wrench may have been thrown in the plans. Not a large one, but one nonetheless.

He may fight for his brother.

Talia brushed that aside. Drake wouldn't allow it. His mission was to get the boy back from the pits alive and safe to his father. He would sacrifice himself first before he would fail that objective.

She was sure of that.

* * *

"Well that was a long-ass story," Jason said stretching his arms and legs.

Stephanie gave a small smile. "I warned you about that."

Stephanie had sat down midway through her story on the cave. She never really looked at Jason's face as she spoke. Jason was astonished. Those two had a lot of history. It was quite amazing that they still were as good friends that they were. But as Stephanie pointed out a little earlier in her story, they hadn't exactly broken up the last time.

"So what are you going to do when they get back?" Jason asked cracking his joints. Sitting in a cubby wasn't the most comfortable place to sit.

"I'm not sure," Stephanie said wrapping her arms around herself.

_Shit, she has been through a lot. Dammit Replacement, can't you see the ripples you've caused?_ Jason thought to himself.

"Well, not that my advice is worth anything, when he gets back, tell him what you feel."

"He's changed." She muttered. Jason walked over and lifted her chin and looked into her tear filled blue eyes.

"So have you."

It was a simple fact, but Stephanie broke out into a wide smile and gave Jason a hug. Jason froze. Getting hugs from Dick was one thing; that man didn't know anything about personal boundaries, but this was different. It was a thank you. Jason hadn't been thanked in a long time.

He cleared his throat and stepped back. He opened his mouth to say something, but it shut again. Absent-mindedly he scratched the back of his head.

"The words, you're looking for are 'You're welcome'," Dick said walking into the room. Dick turned to face Stephanie.

"Oracle thinks she may have found a lead about our boys. I want you to go check it out, alright?"

Steph smiled at the thought and bounded off to retrieve the information.

Dick turned to look at his younger brother.

"Does-does that happen a lot?" He asked once his voice was back.

"Not as often as I would like, but then again being a part of this family, no one gives hugs as often as I would like them to." Dick gave a sad smile.

Jason rubbed the stubble that was growing in on his face. Did that mean that he was actually fulfilling his promise to Damian? That he was actually being a part of the family now? He didn't have very much time to think about it because in an instant Dick had his arm around Jason's throat and was rubbing a fist into his skull.

"Hey! Stop it dickhead!" Jason protested.

"Nuh-uh, little brother, take it like a man." Dick retorted. By the time Jason wrestled his way out of Dick's grasp and pinned him to the ground, he had forgotten that the last time he was called someone's little brother was before the Joker killed him. And by the time Bruce and Alfred came downstairs to remind them that there were things to be done, he had forgotten that he was a twenty-something year old wrestling on the floor with his older brother like they were kids again.

* * *

Damian could see that Drake was on edge. The way that he kept glancing in the side mirrors even so often to make sure that he was still behind him. The way that he would speed up only to remember that there still was a speed limit.

It was quite irritating.

That had been going on for the last eleven miles.

"When we cross the line of Gotham city limits, I want to you to pull ahead of me and go straight to the Manor, Alright?" Drake asked over the comm in the helmets.

"Tired of looking back at me every few seconds?" Damian snapped.

There was a pause before Drake answered that question. "Just promise me that you're going to make it back home safely. Do you think you can do that?"

He was trying to hide it, but Damian could tell that he was trying to hide his concern. Damian felt a small twinge inside somewhere. He didn't recognize the feeling. He filed it down later to ask someone about it. Preferably someone who wouldn't blab their mouths the moment that he turned his back.

Damian didn't respond for a while. To do what Drake asked, he would have to abandon him. And as much as he enjoyed the thought of leaving Drake behind in the dust, never to look at his ugly mug again, there was a tiny part of him that was suspicious of his motives.

"Damian?" Drake prompted.

"Yeah, fine whatever. Leave your sorry ass behind; I should have done that a while ago," Damian said finally.

Drake didn't say anything to that. And as much as he appreciated that there was silence between them, he sort of missed the bickering that they would exchange. He wondered if that was what Drake was talking about when he was talking about being dysfunctional brothers.

Damian's grip on the handles tightened. The sooner they made it home, the faster he could figure out what the hell Drake was meaning with his words.

* * *

"They should be coming around that corner any moment now. Get in positions," She ordered.

"Yes Princess."

From their vantage point, they could see the road curve blindly. It was the perfect vantage for a sniper or an ambush. No doubt that the Bats would have used it as a stakeout spot had it been in the city. They wouldn't be seen from the ground and there was cover from the air from the trees.

Talia would be pacing if she had been a pacing person. As it was, she wasn't and simply waited for those boys to come around the corner. It was only a mile or so from the outer perimeter of Wayne Manor. And were she more concerned about it, she would have chosen a location farther away from their destination.

The roar of motorcycles was getting louder. They were getting closer.

"Ready to fire," she ordered.

The assassin holding the rocket launcher flipped the primer and rested his finger on the trigger. He aimed down at the road below him. His aim was steady and he breathed evenly. No need for him to mess up and have wrath directed down in his direction.

"Aim for the first motorcycle," Talia said. It was a fifty/fifty chance that it would be Damian. Either way, the other would be dealt with quickly.

Two sleek black bikes came around the bend and it was difficult for her to determine who was leading the charge. Distance worked against her and they were wearing similar clothing.

"Fire."

There was a loud blast as the trigger was pulled and the rocket was launched through the air.

* * *

Tim was anxious to turn this corner. Somewhere in the curve, Damian should speed up and pull ahead of Tim and head straight for home. Tim was on the outside of the curve and Damian should be passing him any time now.

Tim was almost out of the curve when he saw it. He couldn't hear it; the engines were drowning out everything outside of the helmet. But there was no denying that he saw the smoke trail bearing down on him. It was aiming straight for the part of the road where he was going to be in a few seconds. He couldn't have avoided it if he wanted to. At the speeds he was going and the angle it was at, it would hit with his bike. He could try to swerve, but he couldn't tell how close Damian was behind him. So he stayed his course.

The rocket connected with the ground inches from his front tire. He closed his eyes and allowed whatever happened happen.

He could feel as he flew through the air. The moment that he and his bike connected with the ground and pinned him down, he blacked out from the pain.

But he was glad that it was him and not Damian.

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh. The action should be picking up in the next few chapters, and I ask you bear with me, I'm not the best at writing fight scenes. **

**'Til next time. **


	11. Chapter 10

_"I have given my word that only death will take me from you."_

_~Philippa Gregory_

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Jason really needed to get out and take a break. His trigger finger was itching to go and there were no criminals out on the street that he could aim for. He half-hoped that there would be a breakout from Arkham or something similar, so for just a few minutes he could take his mind off of his younger brothers.

He landed a punch to some poor mugger's nose. He felt the nose break and blood came rushing down. He felt some satisfaction as the man was knocked unconscious, but the violence didn't solve his question.

Why did he feel so damn worried?

The obvious answer would be that they were his little brothers and little brothers needed to be protected. Of course he knew that they would protest, citing the fact that they were indeed Robin and Red Robin as reasons why they didn't need protection. But that was stupid. Damian was still killed.

He kicked the mugger in the stomach and left him in the alleyway.

The sun was setting and Jason pulled his hat down lower over his eyes. He shuffled further down the street. He really needed to find a constructive means of taking out his frustrations. More so than beating up criminals that were on the street. He could hear someone in the back of his mind telling him to talk to someone.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a can in the middle of the street.

Like he really had anyone to talk to. There was Starfire and Roy, but they were off doing their own thing at the moment, and he really couldn't talk to them about this whole issue anyway. Bruce forbade it.

So he continued walking. There was no direction to where he was going. Occasionally he would find someone on the street that needed a beating, and he would hand it out, but he still walked. Soon he found himself on the street of the police station.

_What the hell?_ He thought to himself.

He placed his domino over his eyes and shot a grappling hook up. He flew across the roofs of buildings until he landed next the bat signal. He didn't expect anyone to be up there, and was surprised when he saw Commissioner Gordon on the roof.

"Is there anything I can help with Commish?" He asked.

"God Almighty! You lot are going to give me a heart attack one day." Gordon said turning around.

Jason shrugged.

"It's Red Hood, right?" Jason raised an eyebrow. "What, your face is usually covered by a red hood. It could've been anyone," Gordon said in his defense.

Jason bit his tongue. This was a stupid idea. He should just go. He turned to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I know that this isn't my place to say, but do you need someone to talk too? I know that Robin was killed a few weeks ago, and I assume that he was related to you, a brother?"

"Something like that," Jason mumbled.

"Do you want to talk? I know that you have Nightwing, and Bats, and Red Robin, but maybe you would want to talk to someone outside the family?" Gordon dropped his hand from his shoulder. "How close were you to him?"

Jason continued to face away from the commissioner. Did he really want to talk? That's probably what his family would want him to do. But did he want to?

"I barely knew the kid actually. Nightwing was probably the one that was closest to him, and the kid hated Red's guts. But I have no idea how he'll feel once they get back."

"What?" Gordon interrupted.

_Well, shit_, Jason thought to himself.

"Wait, Red Robin is going to bring your dead brother back? Is that even possible?"

_Shit, shit, shit. Bat's is gonna kill me._

Jason turned back to face the white-haired man. Whatever he was expecting to find on his face when he turned around, wasn't there. He saw understanding instead of horror.

"What the hell's that look for?" Jason asked.

"You're family care very much for each other. That's very clear. You would do anything to keep each other safe. It's what any family would do." Gordon sat on the edge of the building.

Jason sighed. "But what if your best isn't good enough? What if you still can't protect them even when you've given your all?"

Gordon stood from his spot on the roof and walked over to Red Hood, and wrapped his arms around the taller man.

_What the fuck is this?_ Jason thought. _What is with all the people today giving me their damn hugs? Two months he wanted to throw me in Arkham, now he's giving me a hug. I will never understand people._

But Jason had to admit that the contact felt nice. For once. It wasn't an overwhelmingly tight embrace like Dick was known for, or the professional hand on the shoulder Bruce gave out rarely. It was only a moment before Jason grabbed Gordon's hands and pulled out of his embrace.

Jason held up a finger and started to back away from the Commissioner. This encounter didn't really help at all. Now he really needed to beat someone up. He shot off a grappling hook and swung away from sight.

"Good luck Jason," the commissioner murmured before going back inside.

* * *

Damian would deny from the moment that someone opened their mouths that he screamed at the sight of Drake's motorcycle flying through the air. But he did. He was so distracted by the sight that he lost balance to his own vehicle and landed on his leg. Damian could feel something give in his knee, but he could care less.

He pushed the bike off of him and limped, really over to the wreckage of Drake's bike. Fire was burning and smoke was filling the air. Damian coughed.

"Drake?" He called. Where was the idiot? He couldn't have gotten far, not with the amount of air that he had caught.

He limped closer to the wreckage. Just faintly through the flames and smoke, he could see a figure underneath the burning bike. Damian raced as fast as he could to the sight. The heat was intense. The fire was still not close enough to burn Damian or Tim, but it was coming closer. Damian tried pulling Drake's body out from under the wreck, but a pained groan escaped from Drake. The damn boy's legs were pinned under the bike.

Using all the strength that he had, Damian pushed the bike off of Drake and dragged him away from the burning husk. Drake weighed lighter than Damian would have guessed. He wasn't very large to begin with, but he must have been underfed. He pulled off Drake's helmet and tossed it to the side.

"Drake? Drake wake up!" Damian slapped Drake's cheek. There was no response.

"Drake! I demand you wake up! Dr-Tim!" Damian shouted shaking him.

Drake's eyes fluttered for a moment and he gazed up at Damian unfocused. Damian looked up and down his body for injuries. Both legs were broken, most likely crushed from the bike landing on them. His face was mostly undamaged; the helmet had done its job. A long cut ran along the hairline. There was road rash up and down his body. There was no telling how many internal injuries that Drake possessed.

"Damian?" He coughed. Blood speckled his lips. Internal bleeding. "What are you doing? Get outta here."

"What? I can-." Damian was a little taken aback.

"GO. The important thing is you. I-… never-… was."

His voice was weak, but was clear. His eyes weren't focused on anything, except maybe the stars that were beginning to peak out from the night sky. Tears slipped out of the corners of Tim's eyes. Damian doubted that Tim was aware of it.

Damian gently rested Tim's head on the ground and limped back to his own bike. He righted the vehicle and gave one look back to Drake lying on the ground. Something inside told him to go back. He climbed on and sped away.

_I'll be back. I swear. _

* * *

Talia allowed a small smile to grace her lips as she raised her binoculars to her eyes. There was one less variable to take care of. She refocused the lenses on the body lying on the ground. She had watched as other brother pulled him from the wreckage before speeding away, presumably at the insistence at the injured one.

Timothy. From the looks of that blood pool that was beginning to encircle around his body, it was likely that he wouldn't live very much longer.

Talia raised a walkie-talkie to her lips. "Squad Two, be prepared. Target One is approaching your destination. Engage when in range."

_"Roger."_

Talia handed the walkie-talkie off to one of her assistants in the area. She continued her gaze down at Drake, bleeding out on the road.

She snapped her fingers and an attendant stood at attention by her side.

"Remove anything that might possibly give the police any identification to who he is. We don't need to be breaking news, not that it would hinder our ability to get out of the country undetected. I'd be more concerned with the boy's father. Now go."

The assassin nodded once before taking off towards the road below.

"Ready my jet. We head back immediately."

"Yes, Princess."

With the boy eliminated from the equation, there would be no problem for her operative to retrieve Damian. The boy may put up a fight, but the odds were against him. He had injured himself when he tried to stop to pull out Drake. He had recently been raised from the pits and if her informant was correct, had eaten very little food in the past few days. He would be no issue to take down and return home with. Then he could begin the reconditioning process.

* * *

Tim knew he was dying. He could feel it. The puddle of blood was growing along the side of his body, warm to the touch. He didn't try to move to stop the bleeding. His ribs were broken and so were parts of his hip. If he lived, it was almost guaranteed that he would have to hang up the cape. But he wasn't going to live.

He didn't hear the footsteps. He didn't know that there was even someone near him until he felt hands digging through his pockets. His first instinct was to fight, but he couldn't move.

They were searching for identification. Tim only had his wallet on him. He had slipped the memory card into Damian's pocket while he wasn't paying attention. There were messages that needed to get to the right people and he trusted Damian to at least get the card to someone who would get them to the right people.

Those were words he didn't think he would ever think or say. He trusted Damian.

The presence reseeded and Tim was left alone again, without any identification for when the authorities would come and bring his dead ass to the morgue. He would have closed his eyes to wait, but they were already shut. Swelling. He thought. It was harder to think about anything now.

"Good-b-bye," he whispered to no one in particular. The last words no one would hear. To his friends, family, everyone.

_Goodbye. _

* * *

Damian was speeding. Not that they hadn't been when it was him and Drake. But he needed to get back to the house and grab someone so they could back and save Drake.

Not that it really mattered. It was to repay a debt is all. Drake returned him to this life; it was only just that he returned the favor. There was nothing more to it. And if there was, he would deny it vehemently.

The last few miles to get to the manor went along without anyone coming along and trying to blow him up as well. Until he got to the gates of the manor that is. No one tried to blow him up, but there was an unwelcome face standing there waiting for him.

The Heretic. His clone. His _'brother'_.

Damian slowed his bike to a stop and stared at the clone. It was clear that he wasn't going to let Damian pass without a fight. Fine. Damian was itching to seriously maim something. Too bad he didn't have his katanas.

"Brother, how I looked forward to this encounter. Our last one ended much too quickly for my liking. Maybe this time you won't be so inept," It said.

Damian pulled his utility belt out from under Drake's shirt. Drake had given him clothes that would have fit him better, but he hadn't wanted his charity. He felt around on the vehicle. Drake would have hid some toys around on the vehicle all over. He didn't like to feel unprepared anywhere.

His hand bumped into something. He grabbed it.

"You're in my way," Damian growled.

The Heretic said nothing.

"Get out of my way, or I'll break you." Damian gripped the item in his hand tighter.

The Heretic made no indication that he was going to move.

"Very well, prepare yourself for death."

* * *

"No, we're not supposed to even be on this road! You were supposed to take a left on the interstate, not turn right into the middle of nowhere! Oaf!" His wife complained as he turned along the corners of the road.

He sighed. This happened every single time that they went on any type of road trip together. Kate was the ultimate backseat driver. You would think after twenty years of marriage, he would have gotten used to it.

"Is that smoke ahead?"

He was jerked out of his thoughts and looked out of the front window. Sure enough, there was black smoke billowing out from behind some of the trees ahead of them.

"What do you think happened?" Kate turned to him with a concern look on her face, every thought about going to wrong way escaped out of her mind.

"I'm not sure, but I think we'll find out."

They turned around one corner and there was the source of the smoke. A motorcycle was on fire.

"Oh my God." Kate said as her husband began to slow down.

"Call the police," he told his wife as the car stopped rolling and he leapt out to see if there was anyone hurt.

He couldn't get to close to the actual wreck, the heat was too great. There would be no rescue for anyone if they were trapped anywhere near there. He shielded his face and ran around to the other end of the wreck to see if someone had managed to crawl away.

"Oh god. KATE, call for an ambulance! NOW!" He shouted over the fire. He rushed to the poor soul's side. "Can you hear me son? Give me a sign that you understand me."

The kid didn't answer.

The kid's helmet was sitting the ground next to him and his forehead was bleeding badly. The kid's legs were broken and it was unlikely that he had dragged himself out from the wreckage. Someone must have been with him. But where were they now?

He pushed that question out of his head when he noticed that the kid wasn't breathing. He reached out and took a pulse. There was none.

"Dammit kid, you're too young to die."

His military training kicked in and bent down over the kid. He began to perform CPR. Compressions. Breathe. Compressions. Breathe.

"The police are on their way, an ambulance too. Why would –Oh my GOD!" Kate shouted as she came around to her husband. She started retching on the side of the road. She never could take the sight of blood well; even it was only a paper cut.

He continued to perform CPR until the ambulance and the police came and took over. He stood by his wife as he watched them load the kid into the ambulance. She was sobbing still, and he stood silently.

They still hadn't heard the kid's heart beat even after they used the paddles.

* * *

**A/N: I realize that people might not be happy with the way I've lead this. It's all a part of the plan. Trust me. And I do personally think that Gordon would know about their secret identities, I mean c'mon, he's a detective. But he wouldn't tell anyone, cause he knows that they're good guys. **


End file.
